American scenery, illustrated

"LI B RAFLY

OF THE
UNIVERSITY
or ILLINOIS

A917.3
R39a

111. Hist. Surv.

AMERICAN SCENERl'

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I

'"^'■^'XiTl'^^

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AMERICAN SCENERY,

Ihlk'^nfRAfEB

tI^'^ADDISON RICHARDS, N. A.

W/TIT TniRTY-TWO ENaRAYIWQS ON STEEL.

Be to Dork :

PUBLISHED BY LEAYITT AND ALLEN,

3 7 9 BROADWAY.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854,

By LEA.VITT AND ALLKN,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for tl,e Southern DUtriot of

New York.

IN 4 Brotkkrs, Printers Rnd Sterentypera, 90 North William strait, N. Y.

ILLUSTRATIONS

1. LAKE GEORGE, . . • •

■2. MOl'NT N'ERNON, . . . •

8. FALLS OF TALLULAU, GA., Xo. 1. .

4. ELKHOKN PYEA.MID, UPPER MISSOUKL

5. THE PARK FOUXTAIN, N. Y„

6. THE XARKOAVS. FROM STATEX ISLAND, .

7. BIKTU PLACE OF AVASHINGTON,

8. NEW YORK, FROM WEEHAWKEN,

9. WASHINGTON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANY,

10. MEDICAL COLLEGE. GA., .

11. FALLS OF TOWALAGA, GA..

12. CASCADE OF TUCCOA,

13. LOVERS LEAP, CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER,

14. CATARACT OF TALLULAH. No. 2,

15. SCENE IX THE BACKWOODS .

16. COLUMBIA BRIDGE, ON THE SUSQUEHANNA,

17. RIVER SCENE IN THE SOUTH-WEST,
IS. LOG HUT ON LAKE CHAUDIERE .

19. TOWER ROCK, ON THE MISSISSIPPI, .

20. ST. REGIS, INDIAN VILLAGE, ST. LAWRENCE,

21. MONTREAL IN THE DISTANCE, ST. LAWRENCE.

22. BISON AND ELK, UPPER MISSOURI,

2.3. CINCINNATL OHIO, ....

24 THE OHIO CAVE-IN ROCK,

2.^ NAVY ISLAND, . . . •

26. NIAGARA FALLS ....

27. BURLINGTON, VERMONT,

2S. LAKE IN THE ADIRONDACKS, N. Y.,

29. EOCK MOUNTAIN. . . . •

*». THE SUSQUEHANNA.

81. RESIDENCE OF JUDGE 1L\LIBURT()N.

.32. THE CONNECTICUT RIVER.

Frontispiece.
Before Title.

y

13
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31
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5S
. 65

71

. 81

91

. 99

Ki'.t
. 119

127
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147
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165
. 173

Ibl
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195
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211
. 228

2-35
. 245

257
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295

489328

In tlie following discursive pages the author has
taken a brief, but he hopes an intelligent, glimpse at
the varying characteristics of the beautiful natural
scenery of our country. It has been his endeavour,
throughout, so to relieve the gravity of fact with the
grace of fiction, as to present at the same time an in-
structive topography and an entertaining romance. The
better to accomplish this difficult end, he has assem-
bled around him a company of accomplished and genial
travellers, who discuss the subject familiarly in all its
phases, each from his own peculiar stand-point and after
his own individuality. It is not necessaiy that the
reader be here presented to these gentlemen, since
they will shake him by the hand, and tell him what
manner of men they are, in the first chapter, — which
subserves the usual role of a preface, but is too much
an integral and important part of the narrative to be
so called.

( 8 )

It is not the least of the author's hopes, that his
labour may serve, in a humble measure, in the further
development of the already very high appreciation of
our wonderful scenery, and in the culture of the poj>
ular love of that charming Art — which is, at the same
time, its interpreter and its chronicler — the Art of the
Landscape Painter, from the more legitimate study of
which he has turned aside, in leisure hours, to this ac-
cessory toil. And it is as such an accessory to the
province of his own profession, rather than as a trespass
upon the fields of the sister art of letters, that he thus
ventures to exhibit his work.

Ukitebsitt, New York,

July Ut, 1S54.

}

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

PAQK

Re-union in the Author's sanctum — His despondency, in view of the task before
him — Sympathy of his friends, and cheering promises of assistance — The
theme of his proposed book announced — Tiie romance and the reality of
American landscape: its phj-sique and morale, its historic tradition, its
poetic legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion— General and hearty
approbation in the assembly of the subject, and varied expression of
opinion upon its importance, availability, and interest — Departure of the
guests, with a pledge to reassemble at intervals, and aid the author with
their respective knowledge and experience 13

CHAPTER II.

Second convocation of the Club— Selection, as the text of the evening, of the
picture of the Park Fountain— The Chairman's historic memories of foun-
tains and aqueducts — Mr, Vermeille's poetic view of the matter— History of
the Croton Aqueduct — ^Tlie pleasing and graphic material it offers for an
autobiography — Mr. Flakewhite's romance of "The Smile of the Fountain" —
Mr. Brownoker's droll anecdote of the "Man in the Fountain" 21

CHAPTER III.

The party starts southward— Visit to Virginia— Extraordinary attractions of
the historical associations of the country— The great men of Virginia— The
birth-place of "Washington; Mr. Blueblack's visit to the spot— General
absence of commemorative monuments in America; reflections upon the

10 CONTENTS.

PASB

cause and consequence, importance and interest of such memorials, and
illustrative anecdote by the Chairman — The extent, varietj', and beauty of
the scenery of Virginia ; the springs, and western hills, and rivers — Megilp's
disastrous adventures in Weir's Cave, and at the Natural Bridge — Blue-
black's tale of " LrPTLE Emma Munnerldj" — Brownoker's brief story of
" Tom, Dick, and Harry, or Woman's Constancy" 41

CHAPTER lY.

Still in Virginia — Gossip about the uses and pleasures of social re-unions —
Mr. Deepredde's reflections upon the historical incident of the " Crossing
of the Alleghany in the expedition of 1753 ;" his account of the adventure
in the story of "The Man of Duty" — Flakewhite's dramatic historiette of
" Gabriblle de St. Pierre" 65

CHAPTER Y.

The travellers proceed to the Carolinas and Georgia — Conversation upon the
prospects of art in America, and the influences at work for its development
and advancement — Mr. Vermeille's tale of "The Mothers of the Revolution,"
and Mr. Deepredde's Mesmeric Visit to " Margaret House ;" sequels to the
stories of " The Man of Duty" and " Gabrielle de St. Pierre"— Glimpses of
the scenery of the South-eastern States, from the lowlands to the moun-
tains— Halt at the Falls of Toccoa — "The Old Legend of Toccoa" 91

CHAPTER YI.

The Falls of the Tallulah, in Georgia ; offerings of the poets — Nacoochee, and
other neighbouring beauties — Ignorance of the mountaineers in the South-
east, and difficulties of travel — Megilp's wicked tricks upon the natives — ^Mr.
Brownoker's exploits as a Frenchman — Flake white's story of " Kitty, the
Woodsian's Daughter" 109

CHAPTER YII.

The South-west — Romantic adventures and sufferings of the early explorers

De Soto, and his companions — Mr. Asphaltum's account of his visit to
the Mississippi — Local oddities of Western character — Tale of "Mistletoe
Hall" jgij

COXTEXTS. 11

CHAPTER VIII.

FAOB

Tower Rock, on the Mississippi — Coijtiimatioii and conclusion of the romance
of " Mistletoe Hall" 157

CHAPTER IX.

Progress of the Club to the Great West— Megilp's recolleetions of the Missouri
River ; his adventures at the " Gates of the Rocky Mountains" — The great
Prairies — California and Oregon — Modes of hunting the bison — Megilp's
" FmsT AKD Last Buffalo Hc>'t" 181

CHAPTER X.

The West — ^The Ohio River and Diamond Island — Cave in the rock — ^Mammoth
Cave — The rivers of Kentiicky — Scenery of the States touching the north
bank of the Ohio — Peep at Minnesota, Iowa, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the
Great Lakes — Megilp's adventure, which proves to be "Nothing after allI" 195

CHAPTER XI.

Return of the traveller? to the North, and visit to Lake George — Extent and
beauty of the lake — Scenery of New York and New England — Pre-eminence
of Horicon — Its characteristics in relation to foreign lake-views — The moun-
tain shores and islands of Horicon — Social pleasures of the region — Historic
memories— Mr. Asphaltum's story of "The Scout of Hoeicox, or Rogers's
Slide" — Mr. Brownoker's tale of "Diamond Isle, or The Stray Glove" 211

CHAPTER XII.

Visit to the Adirondacks and the famous Saranac Lake region— Its celebrity
for picturesque beauty, and for its capacity as a hunting and fishing ground

^Boating on the mountain-lakes— A bear-adventure — Blueblack's doleful

encounter with a wild-cat, in the great Indian Pass — The hunters, and
their manner of life— Anecdotes of a sporting parson— Adventurous passage
through the woods, from the Saranacs to the Adirondacks — Mr. Asphal-
tum's recollections of " The HERMir of the Ajdiroxdacks" 235

12 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XIII.

FAOB

The Middle States— The Hudson— The CatskiUs; favourite summer studio of
the artists : landscape-painters Cole, Durand, and others — The Erie Railway
and the Dela-ware River — Yallev of "Wyoming and scenery of the Susque-
hanna—The Juniata, the Schuylkill, and the Lehigh— Scenery of Delaware,
Ne-w Jersey, and Maryland — Coal-beds and Canals of Pennsylvania — Tale of
"Love's Laboce Wo>-"— The Chairman's narrative of "Me. BEOwys Strategy" 257

CHAPTER XIV.

Our travellers and their wanderings, with a brief excursion into New England —
Ease and profit of travel there — Partition of the route ; Mr. Megilp retracing
his rambles in Maine ; Mr. VermeiUe exploring the white hills and lakes of
New Hampshire; and Mr. Flakewhile strolling lovingly amidst the rich
valley-lands of the Housatonic and the Connecticut — Antiquity of New
England; its stores of Indian and revolutionary reminiscence — Blueblack
on the peaks of Mansfield and the Camel's Hump, and in the valleys of
Vermont — Brownoker's merry experience of the social characters and habits
of New England — His graphic report of the anniversary festival of the
society of ""Womax's Rights" — Mr. Megilp's "Slight Mistake" — ^Farewell
salutations of the guesta, and the author's valediction 295

I

CHAPTER I.

The wit and wisdom of a pleasant circle of gay friends who,
while they never exceed, yet always quite fill up, the limits of
becoming mirth, had, through a long evening, dashed a flood
of laughing sunshine upon the sombre-hued walls of our antique
studio. The sparkling coruscations of their mad humour availed,
however, but partially to exorcise the heavy shadows which hung
like a pall over our usually buoyant spirits. One disquieting
thought oppressed us, and, as usual, awakened our entire schedule
of ugly remembrances, which to be sure had no earthly relation-
ship to the first intrusive visitor, yet came in that hateful gre-
garious spirit to which misery is proverbially given. While the
hours were flying in the brilliant, yet, as it then seemed to us,
bootless pleasure of social gossip, we were thinking of duties
deferred, of "time misspent, and fair occasions gone forever by;"
and in that wretched state of mental languor, which though it
sees, yet is too feeble to confront and conquer difiiculty, we were
dreaming of our neglected duties — to you, reader; of the ways
and means of fittingly acquitting ourself of the task of preparing
these pages; wondering how on earth we could possibly do the
deed, and that, too, within the brief time which our publishers

V

14 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

allowed us. We half regretted tliat we had so rashly assumed
the labour. We obeyed the behest of Sir Philip Sydney, to look
within our own heart and write, but we found, like Sir Charles
Coldstream when he gazed disgusted into the crater of Vesuvius,
that there "was nothing in it!" We had recently laid aside
that charming bouquet of "Passion Flowers" which had just
blossomed so sweetly in the literary parterre, and a lingering
fragrance came to us, in the remembrance of the lines—

"I never made a poem, dear friend,
I never sat me down and said.
This cunning brain and patient hand
Shall fashion something to be read.

"Men often came to me and prayed
I should indite a fitting verse
For fast or festival, or in
Some stately pageant to rehearse,
(As if, than Balaam more endowed,
I, of myself, could bless or curse.)"

The bricks, we felt, should be made, but, alas ! where was thu
straw ? In brief, we suspected ourself of decided stupidity, and
could, in no way, reason us out of the grateful conviction. Our
evil mood, though not virulent enough to check the humour of
our guests, was yet sufficiently evident to attract notice and to
elicit sympathy. A dozen clever and kind doctors were anxiously
occupied with our moral pulse. We explained our symptoms,
and were soon cheered and flattered into a more quiet and

hopeful state.

"The waters of your fancy," said Mr. Brownoker, "will,
by all hydraulic law, soon remount to the desired height; for,
pardon the compliment, is not the reservoir lofty enough for all
your needs? Some vulgar trash temporarily obstructs the
conduit— a buckwheat cake too much at breakfast, perhaps, or

THE MEETING OF THE TRAVELLERS. 15

wine and walnuts too abundant at dinner. Eest assured, my
dear boy, that what is poetically called "a mind diseased," Ls,
in the vulgate, often nothing more than pork and beans ad
nauseam. "We'll soon blow away the blues, and bring you back
to concert pitch !"

" Remember Mrs. Chick, and ' make an effort,' " said Mr.
Brownoker.

" You have but to meet the enemy and he is yours," added
Mr. Megilpv

" Forget not Sir Joshua, ' Nothing is denied to well-directed
labour,' " said Deepredde.

" Or Richelieu calling back the spent fire and energy of his
early years, 'In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such
word as fail.' "

" The sacred text, ' As thy day so shall thy strength be.' "
"Caesar, 'Yeni, vidi, vici!'"

Refreshed with this torrent of cheering words, our courage
and hope were rapidly springing into life again, and when the
last scrap of conclusive and flattering raillery, " Remember your-
self, and 'the country is safe!'" came to our ears, the stainless
pages before us seemed rapidly to pass from fair manuscript to
corrected proof, and from proof to peerless volume. Countless
editions followed each other through our brightening view, and
for very modesty we closed our eyes upon "the opinions of the
press."

" Yaur book shall be finished as speedily as Aladdin's castle !
We will all lend you a hand," cried our guests. " We will
have a literary ' bee.' "

" You shall cut out the work and we will ' play tailor to
the Muses!'"

" What is your theme ? Not metaphysics — aye ?"
" Not sermons ?"
" Not politics ?"

16 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" Not temperance?" chimed in one upon another, the associated
face sensibly lengthening the while.

"By no means!" we hastened to explain. "Neither j)hi-
losophy, religion, nor morals. Heaven forbid ! We have a more
genial topic — the Romance and Reality of American Land-
scape— its physique and morale, its historic tradition, its poetic
legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion. What say you
to the text?"

" You could not have a happier one, and we, learned in the
book of Nature, are the very preachers to discourse thereon.
Are not you, yourself, are we not all, painters and poets —
life-long worshippers of Nature? Have we not laid our souls
upon her sacred altar ? Do we not ken her in all her thousand
mystic utterances, and will she not lend us the living inspiration
of her smile as we seek to chant her praise? Yerily a noble
text, and now for the heads of the sermon !"

"Our publishers," we explained, "are happily possessed of a
portfolio of pictures of many of the most charming and famous
bits of American scenery — a portfolio which they laudably desire
to give to the world — and we are pledged to play master of
ceremonies on the occasion, to expatiate upon the panorama as
it passes."

" A pleasant task enough, in which, as we have said, we will
all assist you. In our periodical conclaves here we will take
subject after subject, and each one shall give up that which is
most within him of his experience, adventure and imaginings
of the several scenes. We could not have more delightful
occupation as we sip our sherry and puff our havanas. As old
Phocylides says —

"Tis right for good wine-bibbing people
Not to let the jug pace round the board like a cripple,
But gaily to chat while discussing their tipple."

THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 17

"Nothing could be more agreeable," said Mr. Vermcille,
"than, while sitting arouud our winter fire, to live our joyous
summer rambles over again, to retrace our merry courses from
Maine to Texas, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. "\Ye will
emerge from the rank everglades of Florida and watch the
buffalo as they scour the boundless prairie. Look from the
proud summit of Mount Washington over the waters of AYinni-
piseogee and Squam, across valley and hill, village and city, to
the ocean-bouuded horizon. From the lyric peaks of the
Catskills we will scan the windings of the peerless Hudson.
On the Adirondack's we will drink iu the beauties of Horicon
and Champlain, and the verdant sweeps of the green hills. Our
barque shall thread the tortuous path of the Mississippi and the
Missouri. We will repose ourselves by prattling cascade, or listen
to the sterner voice of Niagara ' pouring its deep eternal bass
in Nature's anthem.' 'Lord ! what a tramp we'll have !' "

"We will rekindle our fancies," added Mr. Flakewhite,
" with the wild legends which the red man has bequeathed to
the scenes of his lost home, and strengthen our patriotism and
virtue with remembrances of the gallant deeds of Trenton,
Saratoga, Yorktown, Chamjolain, Bennington, and many other
consecrated fields."

" If our scene," said a sculpturing friend, who had just
returned to us after a long sojourn in Europe, " were but
laid amidst the storied haunts of the Old World, and our
characters culled from its peculiar and picturesque populations,
we should have more plastic material to work with than we
shall find in the rugged quarries of this new land, untutored
by the touch of Art, unsoftened by the breath of Time ; and
a people too active and practical for poet's uses."

" A mistaken notion of yours, my dear friend," rejoined Mr.
Flakewhite. " I grant you that, to the common eye and feel-
ing, the story of our battle-fields, the freshness and newness of
■ 2

18 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

our natural scenery, may seem tame, wanting the poetic veil i

of distance ; may be belittled by its contemporary character ; but j

we, I hope, are men of larger vision, possessed of that unpre- »

judiced and prophetic spirit which, like the catholic power of
love, ' lends a precious seeing to the eye ;' revealing to us the

immortal essence of actions and things, stripped of all passing, '

degrading accessories. It is only your shallow-pated fellow for
whom ' too much freedery breeds despise.'

" It is in the very freshness you condemn, added to the \

grandeur, scope, and vigour of our landscape, and to the same ^ j

qualities in the morale of our people, that our strength lies : ;

qualities pointing to a larger humanit}'-, and to a higher and ,

nobler civilization, than the world has yet been blessed with. i

We, as poets and artists, are favoured in being called upon to i

water this grander spirit rather than to expound the meaner ^

though more dainty aims of the old art and thought. '

"Now, last, though not least, were our land, in poetic and
philosophic inspiration, a thousand times behind all other climes, 1

rather than so gloriously before them, is it not our own land,
and is not the offering of our love and service a duty, no
less than a delight?

"' 0, my native land!

How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy

To me, who from thy lakes and mountain hills,

Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas,

Have drunk in all my intellectual life,

All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts,

All adoration of the God in Nature ;

All lovely and all honourable things —

Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel

The joy and greatness of its future being.

There lives not form, nor feeling in my soul,

Unborrowed from my country 1' "

THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 19

"But, will our subject, think you, interest the popular
heart?" asked Mr. Brownoker.

" Nothing more so," responded Mr. Deepredde, " for it
touches a gentle and universal chord in the human soul. Since
the halcyon days when Adam and Eve rejoiced with exceeding
joy beneath the glorious skies of Paradise, Nature has ever
shared bountifully in the love and adoration of man. This
feeling is an instinct, no less than a refinement, in our souls.
The degraded Guebre, and the poor Indian, with untutored mind,
worship the elemental principles of Nature, bowing down in
mystic rite to the sacred fire, or gazing up, with rapt vision, to
the throne of the Great Spirit, the blazing sun; the wretched
negro no less, as he bows to the god of poisons, enshrined in
the foliage of the poison tree, or prostrates himself before the
omnipotence of the waters, in his prayers to the crocodile ; so,
too, the followers of Zoroaster, kneeling in the free and unpol-
luted air of the grand mountain tops.

" From the lowliest to the loftiest spreads this all-pervading
love. 'He,' says Pindar, 'deserves to be called the most excel-
lent, who knows most of Nature.' 'Nothing,' Cicero tells us,
'is so delightful in literature, as that branch which enables us
to discern the immensity of Nature, and which, teaching us
magnanimity, rescues the soul from obscurity.' Horace dis-
dained the glitter of Augustus's court, in the quiet of his Sabine
home. Then we hear of the

' Olive-grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the attic bird
Trills her thick warbled notes the summer long.'

"Where and when, indeed, have greatness or goodness astonished
and blessed the world, unnurtured by the sacred manna which
Nature, in her varied forms, provides ?"

At this point of his discourse, Mr. Deepredde was suddenly

20 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

brought up by a sacrilegious hint that the small hours were
coming; and a general movement among our guests ensued.

" A Mercredi .'"' said one of us.

"We will not fail you!" cried another.

"Have your portfolio ready," advised a third.

"With the especial subject of the evening," said a fourth.

"And we will each weave around it o\vc garland of fact
and fiction," promised a fifth.

" And our word for it !" sang out the last, as his form
vanished in the outer darkness, "enough copy shall be elicited
to satisfy the cravings of the most carnivorous ' devil' that ever
worried the soul of poor author: and of a quality, too, let
us flatter ourselves, to win the patient ear of many a pleased
reader."

■Vi

i

CHAPTER II.

On the appointed evening, ovir impromptu committee re-as-
sembled. Mr. Deepredde was called to the chair, and the
minutes of the previous meeting — that is, dear reader, the fore-
going chapter — were read and "ordered to be printed." The
portfolio was opened, and we selected from its stores the
accompanying charming picture of the famous Park fountain :

"We cannot do better than thus begin at home," observed
an original and profound thinker. "Let us avoid the vulgar
error of undervaluing those beauties and delights which lie
within our daily reach."

"Fountains," solemnly observed the respected chairman, by
way of initiating the subject of the night, "have from the remotest
periods, and among all people, been objects of especial interest.
In varied shape and costliness, they embellished all the chief
towns of ancient Greece. Old Pausanius has left us accounts
of many of these favourite structures. Among others, he men-
tions a most remarkable one at Epidemus, in the sacred grove
of Esculapius; and two yet more interesting at IMessena, loved
by the populace under the names of Arsinoe and Clepsydra.
We read also of beautiful founkiins in the city of Megara, in

22 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

AcLaiai ; of the famous Pirene at Corinth, encircled by a marble
wall sculptured with various grottoes, from which the waters
flowed; and of the Leina, also at Corinth, surrounded by a
grand portico, under which were seats for the public ease and
comfort in the sultry summer evenings.

"All of us have delighted our fancies, and many of us have
blessed our vision, with these rich and classic altars of the water
sprite in the art and nature-loving land of Italy. For my own
part, though Pope seems to think it but a shabby sort of
warming ' to think on the frightful Caucasus,' yet on many a
scorching August night, in this salamander town of ours, I
have cooled my brow and brain with the remembered sparkles
and breezy drippings of the merry waters by St. Peter's, at
Frescati, and Termini, and Mount Janiculum ; in the dreamy
gardens of the Belvidere, and at the lovely villas of Aldobran-
dini and the Borghese.

" I doubt not that we all cherish equally grateful recollec-
tions of the fountained beauties of Paris — that city of fountains
— a title, let me observe, en passant, which I trust our own
goodl}^ city of Gotham will one day successfully dispute ; for
surely, to speak after the manner of rude men, ' she has got
it in her.' As I was saying, though, we have lingered many
a happy hour in the sweet watered groves and wilds of Yer-
sailles, lounged delighted at St. Cloud, or strolled with outward
and inward satisfaction through the passages of the Tuileries."
" Our respected chairman, in his learned remarks," observed
Mr. Yermeille, " has touched upon the poetry and sentiment of
our theme, though very much more might be said on this head:
much more (as frightened eyes glanced from all sides of the
table) than I have any thought of now saying. That first
and most perfect of women, our great mother. Eve, made her
sinless toilet in the mirroring waters. The whispers of the
fountain fell in cadence with the love-songs of Jacob and

FOUNTAINS. — THE CROTON. 23

Eebecca. It was by the fountain side that our Saviour dis-
coursed to the Samaritan woman. Fountains are associated with
countless beautiful incidents and histories in the life of mankind.
They have ever been a treasured theme and simile of the poets.
The sacred writers forever sing of the fountains. Shakspeare
alludes to them continually ; so Milton, Sidney, Shelley, and
indeed all who have ever uttered the breathings of truth and
beauty."

" Before we fall into too discursive a gossip," said a brother
of an inquiring turn of mind, " would it not be well to glance
at the genealogy of our theme, by a brief review of the history
of its great source, the immortal Croton ?"

A general nod of approbation followed this suggestion, and
all eyes turned intuitively to the chair.

" Not to trespass upon your time, gentlemen," commenced
Mr. Deepredde, " I will say nothing of the achievements of the
Egyptians under Sesostris ; of Semiramis, in Babylonia ; of the
Israelites in the days of Solomon and Hezekiah ; or of other
stupendous aqueducts of ancient art and enterprise; but come
at once to our own — a work which, in magnitude and value,
may rank with the trophies of any period. As long ago as
1793, Dr. Joseph Brown proposed to supply our city with water
by bringing the river Bronx to Harlem in an open canal,
raising it to the required height by steam, and conducting it
to the town in a six-inch pipe."

" The doctor was an old fogy !" interrupted a progressive
gentleman. " The Bronx and a six-inch pipe ! pooh !"

" True," resumed the chairman, " that was the day of small
things ; but still we must not be unmindful of the Doctor : he
planted the humble seed from which has grown the sturdy
Croton. This seed first shot up under the culturing hand of
our honoured fellow-citizen. Colonel De Witt Clinton, in the year
1832. In 1835 the bud was fully formed, and on the Fourth

24 THE ROMAJNTCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

of July, 1842 — many of you remember tlie merry day and its
rejoicings, gentlemen — the great work was completed ; and, witli
music and merriment, the Croton Lake, forty long miles away,
was escorted over hill and valley to the firesides of our people,
and endowed forever with the freedom of the city. This intro-
duction, gentlemen, cost us some twelve millions of dollars,"

" It has just occurred to me, Mr. Chairman," said Mr. Yer-
meille, " that should either of us be in want of a theme for
our muse, we might happily find it in an autobiography of the
Croton. What an epitome of human happiness and misery its
varied story would present ! What changeful experiences it
must gather in its passage from the peaceful seclusion of its
native hills through the thousand scenes of joy and sorrow,
of virtue and vice, which it sees within the voiceless walls
of this mad capital, to its final home in the great ocean of
waters. Here, with gentle sympath}^ and sweet hope, it kisses
tlie sinless brow of the babe at the holy font, and there sighingly
seeks to cool the fevered tongue of the dying sinner. Now it
gives hearty greeting to the thirsty labourer, sings gaily in his
humble kettle, boils his frugal dinner with a will, and anon, it
shrinks from the hated association with the poisoned cup of the
drunkard! Oh! a merry elf — a sorrowing slave— is the Croton!"

" You remember, gentlemen, no doubt," said Mr. Flakewhite,
" that graphic Croton story of Hoffman's, called the ' Man in
the Reservoir,' in which he so thrillingly and philosophically
analyzes the varying emotions of his hero, plunged beyond help
in the deep waters, and hour after hour, in the silent night,
vainly seeking a means of ascent in the steep mural banks !"

"A capital and most effective picture! Apropos, are there
no legends or tales associated with the history of our fountain,
or has its life been too brief to gather them ?"

" Enough, and winsome ones too, without doubt, if it could
but speak for itself."

THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 25

" Poor thing ! Will not some imaginative brother speak for
it? Brownoker, suppose you concoct us a "

" Punch ?"

" No, a romance. It is quite in your line."

"Not for the present occasion. The story of our fountain
should be one of dainty sentiment. Flakewhite is your man."

" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Plakewhite at length, and after
much persistence on the part of his friends, "as my turn must
come at some time, I submit. I do not vouch for the literal
truth of what I am about to say to you. I tell the tale simply
as it comes to my fancy. Listen then to the romance of

C|e ^milc of tljc .f ountaiit.

" Not many years ago, a young lad came from the seclusion
of the country to this bustling city, in confident quest of fame
and fortune. This was no strange occurrence. Hundreds are
thus daily coming, and disappointment, only, is but too often the
sad reward of their bright and credulous hopes. Our hero was
not of these unfortunates. He was doomed to struggle no less
than they; but not, like them, to sink in the trial. He came
unknown, unfriended, and with empty purse. He felt the cold
charities of the rude world, and ate the bread of bitterness.
He swallowed to the dregs the cup of hope deferred and toil
too long unrewarded. His ambition was to be a painter ; and
though his sensitive and haughty spirit illy brooked the slavish
labour, yet want and necessity compelled him to perform the
humblest services — the lowest drudgery — of his art.

" He was a youth of strong heart and brave will. He was
possessed of all that subtile delicacy and spirituality of feeling,
that romance and beauty of soul, which instinctively seeks com-

26 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

munion with all that is most gentle and exalted in our nature,
and which finds its development in thought and action far
above the common interests and pursuits of men ; yet no less
was he imbued with that practical and philosophic spirit which,
though it be but for the end's sake, rightly estimates the value
of the humble means by which the loftiest, no less than the
lowliest, success must be won. He was eager to reach the goal,
yet patient in the race. His gaze soared to heaven, but he
forgot not the earth which sustained his feet.

" Day after day, and, indeed, year upon year, he pursued
his silent toil, renewing his hope and strength in communion
with the pure and beautiful spirit of Nature as often as his
wearying labours permitted him to seek the home of his heart
in the sunlight and shade of the country. When, in process
of time, the gay prattle of the new Park Fountain one bright
sunny morning startled his wondering ears, in the very midst
of the dull scenes of his daily life, his heart leaped up with
the dancing waters, and their joyous voice spoke to his soul
then, as ever after, in glad whispers of sympathy and hope
It brought back to his remembrance the smiling eyes of the
mother he would never see again ; of the home from which he
was an exile. It filled his spirit with indescribable emotions
of pleasure, and, from that hour forth, exercised over him a
strange and irresistible fascination. It was the bright far-off
star of his wonder and love, bending down to his ear in
familiar converse. No matter for cold or hunger, for exhaus-
tion or despondency, he was ever, in his leisure hours, at early
morn, and in the waning night, invincibly drawn by the magic
spell of the fountain. The edge of the murmuring basin grew
to be his home. Here he would sit through unobserved hours,
gazing upwards at; the pearly drops, or down into the darker
floods, seeing, in each, fantastical or profound minglings of the
light and shade of life. Many a touching history of joy and

THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 27

sorrow, many an earnest lesson of cheer and of chiding, lie
read in this mystic page; and though sometimes the sadder,
he yet grew ever wiser and stronger by their teachings.

" One quiet summer evening, thus musing in pleased abstrac-
tion, his face grew beautiful with the light of pleasure as his
eye caught the reflection of a smile, sweeter than often blesses
either the waking or sleeping vision of the dreamer. More than
once before he had seen this spirit of the waters— for spirit
only he seemed to think it, since it never had occurred to
him to look up for the original of the sweet face. I know
not how long he might now have continued to gaze upon the
beauteous image, had not a light, merry laugh at his side
recalled him to earth, and revealed to his startled perceptions
the living form of the fair being whom he had worshipped
only as a dream.

" Frederic Marzan — so was the youth named— bowed slightly,
half involuntarily, and half as in apology for the temerity of

his intent gaze.

" ' You are a devoted dreamer, sir,' said the lady. ' I have
been looking in vain for the object of your search in the
fountain. Pray, may I ask what you see there so charming?'

" ' A vision of beauty, madam,' answered Frederic, his truant
speech quickly brought back by her gay and cordial voice and
manner, and speaking with his wonted grace and gallantry,
though with an earnestness and truth of expression not always
the soul of such graces — 'a vision, madam, scarcely less fixed
in my memory and fancy, now that I look upon your living
face, than when I watched its smile in the fountain.'

" The lady laughed merrily, though evidently not displeased
with the bold compliment.

" ' Your courtesy, sir, is as graceful as it is long delayed,'
she rejoined, in a voice of frank coquetry which her patrician
face and bearing could well afford. 'I have often stood by

28 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

your side here, wondering wliat odd confidences you and the
fountain were exchanging — what mad tales you were telling
each other; yet never until now have you deigned to honour
me with any consciousness of my presence.'

" ' I never, madam, dreamed that the sweet smile that I
beheld in the water was more than the image of my own
teeming fancy. It ever brought in its train such a retinue of
absorbing and happy thoughts and desires, as completely to
withdraw my mind from all the actual about me.'

" ' I am sorry then that I have broken the spell and released
you from its grateful enchantment. Yet,' she continued, in a
more serious tone, not unmingled with a feeling of thoughtful
sadness, as she glanced at the threadbare attire and the anxious
face of the friendless student, ' I do you a good service in
calling you back to earth. It is not well, nor wise, for you
to waste your hours in dreams, still idle and profitless, bright
and winsome as they may be. Your fortunes seem yet to be
made, and to be awaiting none but your own strong and will-
ing hands. This enchanted land is not the place for you. Sir
Pilgrim. You should be in the busy, acting world. Musing
and dreaming are in fitting measure the nurse of achievement ;
in excess, they only kill. Gather strength and purpose at the
fountain, if you will; but do not, too, spend it there.'

"As the lady spoke, our hero's surprise at the unexpected
seriousness of her speech, and at the grave character of her
rebuke and counsel, half restrained the feelings of wounded
pride which were gathering in his breast. Still, there was no
little haughtiness in his voice and manner, as he replied —

" ' You misjudge me, madam. I do not spend strength and
purpose here. Frederic Marzan is not of the vile herd who
basely sigh for what they dare not seize. As you think, my
fortunes are yet to be built, and by my own unaided strength.
I ask no mean prize in the world's gift, and I will have my

THE SMILE OF THE FOUXTAIN". 29

asking ! We may meet again, when you will not thus unjustly
rebuke me.'

'"I do not doubt it,' said the young girl, looking stead-
fastly into our hero's eyes, sparkling with haughty pride and
high resolve.

" ' Forgive my grave and gratuitous lecture,' she continued
gaily, and kindly extending her hand, as she at length yielded
to the impatience of her cavalier to resume their walk.

" ' Thanks, many thanks, for your gentle kindness and for
your counsel. It is not gratuitous — not vain. It gives me an
incentive to effort which will conquer though all others fail,'
said Frederic earnestly, as his burning lips touched her proffered
hand.

" ' Gone,' mournfully soliloquized the youth, turning his eyes
from the retreating figure he had been watching until lost to
his sight. ' Gone forever the Smile of the Fountain ! She will
not come back again ; and if she should, what is that to me ?
I may not look into the actual face, and draw from it glad
imaginings, as I have done from the vanished image;' and his
brow darkened as he gloomily reviewed his own life and pros-
pects, and thought of the great social gulf which he doubted
not stretched between the stranger lady and himself 'But,'
he resumed, after a pause, and as a new courage seemed to
cheer his soul, 'a truce to all vain sighs and sickly dreams,
and let us see if will and work cannot bring back the Smile
of the Fountain !'

"From this hour, the whole character of Frederic Marzan
was changed, or developed, rather. He was a youth no longer;
but a man, with man's graver and deeper views of life, and
with man's higher and firmer wish and will. He still often
visited the fountain, and looked earnestly into its waters, but
the old smile never again greeted his sight. Many forms stood
around him, but in none did he discover the one he sought.

30 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAI^ LANDSCAPE.

Now and then his heart would beat more quickly, as light
figures glided past him, and with inward trepidation he would
seek to look beneath the veils which buried unanswering faces.
" Despite his stern resolutions, which were for the most time
invincible, oppressive memories of faded hopes would spring
up, and, swelling into irresistible torrents, would in a moment
tear away the strong pillars of the iron bridge which he had,-
with so great effort, sprung over the gulf of all sad bygones.
Still, in every changeful mood, the fountain was his sure recourse
—his hope or his consolation. He felt the subtile, healthy influ-
ence of its smile always around him. It seemed to bless his

life.

"From the day of his rencontre with his unknown adviser
his horoscope brightened. Pictures which had lingered in the
shops were bought, and others found purchasers as fast as his
pencil could execute them. His name began to be heard and
honoured in the world. He made rapid strides in his profes-
sional career. His fortunes brightened day by day; success
followed success ; eager patrons surrounded him ; and the fame
which once seemed to him at such unattainable distance, now
came unsought and almost unwelcomed. His studio was the
favourite resort of the beauty and fashion of the town. Many
gay belles asked the immortality of his pencil ; many flattering
smiles were lavished upon him ; but none whose light outshone
the never-forgotten radiance of the Smile of the Fountain.

"He mingled freely and incessantly in the social pleasures
to which he was invited, and yet with an insouciance not quite
suited to his brilliant prospects and early years.

"'You seem marvellously indifferent, Marzan,' said a fashion-
able lounger to him one day, while filling the sitter's chair,
' to the smiles of our fair belles. Do none of the arrows reach
your heart, or are you impervious ? But then you have such
incomprehensible notions about women. Now there's that odd,

THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN". 31

haughty, but ruinously handsome and fearfully clever little witch,
Edith Manners — I beg pardon of her stateliness — Miss Edith
Manners. If you can withstand her charms, I give you up as
hopeless. By the way, how is it that you have never painted
her portrait? Wh}^, my dear boy, you might paint our peer-
less though perverse Edith, and then contentedly die. Why,
'pon my word, you are a Goth not to have done it long ago
— the picture, I mean — not the dying.'

" ' I have not the honour of Miss Manners' acquaintance,'
said the artist, coldly.

" ' Not the honour of her acquaintance !' resumed the visitor.
* Why, really, per hacco ! you astound me ! There is still a
hope for you, when you do know her, as you soon shall.

I'll manage the thing for you. Nothing is '

" ' Pray do not trouble yourself on my account.'
" * O, my dear friend, no trouble, I assure you : au contraire,
a pleasure. Why, she is just the woman to suit you; and I
am positive — no compliment — that she will fancy you. Queer
creature ! I don't exactly understand her ; she has so many odd
ways— does and says so many strange things! Why, would
you believe it, at Mrs. Dashaway's, once, I joined a set of
writing people, with whom she was talking about the character-
istics of great men — Washington saving his country, and all
that; and when I said I hoped yet to have the honour of
preserving my country, she said it was very possible, as Rome
was saved by a goose ! Then everybody laughed, and I really
should have thought the impertinent little wretch was quizzing
me, if she had not explained that she meant to say that, if
a goose could save a capital like Rome, what might not / do ?
Shockingly complimentary in her, wasn't it ? Well, well, she does
oblio-ing things sometimes, though more often over the left than
the right. When she goes to the opera, she sits in a private
box, where no one can see her. She says she goes to hear

32 THE ROMAJ^CE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the music, not to see a puppet sliow ! It must be a great
bore. Queer creature! Why she'll turn her back upon any
of our set — capital fellows they are, too — at any time, to talk
to some old fogy of a D. D., or to some seedy poet, or to some
poor devil of a painter— no offence — nothing personal ; you don't
belong to that sort, you know ; you're one of us, though I
must say you are not very sociable — indeed, I may say (excuse
me), a little stiff.'

" ' Shut your mouth, if you please.'

"'Aye?'

" ' I am painting the lips.'

" ' 0, ah, yes ! very good, very ; he, he, capital, 'pon honour !
I must tell that to our fellows — he, he!'

"Soon after this colloquy, or monologue, rather, the artist
dismissed his sitter, and his thoughts lingered about the much
discussed Edith. To tell the truth, he was not a little piqued
that the most famous and spirituelle beauty of the city had
never come to his studio, never invited his acquaintance, never
even sought to meet him at any of the many reunions among
their mutual friends: or even at the soirees given expressly
in his honour, and by her own circle.

" 'It is,' said Marzan, to himself, 'un parti pris. She is too
proud to follow the popular current, and she evidently avoids
me simply because I am courted by all others. Eeally, I am
curious to see this fabled Edith Manners.'

"His eye at this moment rested upon a large canvass, which
had long occupied such leisure hours as he could snatch from
the toils of his manifold engagements. Gazing upon the picture,
as he turned its face from the wall, an expression of sadness
softened his look, and his thoughts flew far away from Edith
Manners.

" ' She must be a paragon, indeed, he mused, ' if she can
make me forget my little unknown patroness! Shall I never

THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 33

see her again? Will the fountain never more wear its old
sweet smile?'

" The picture upon which he gazed was nothing less than
a faithful memory of the scene at the fountain— the interview
between Marzan and the young girl, which we have narrated
at the beginning of our story. In every respect, it was a glo-
rious production. Indeed, it was the artist's chef-d'ceuvre, as the
public enthusiastically pronounced it when it soon after enriched
the Annual Exhibition of the National Academy.

"'Strange!' whispered the curious public, when it was told
that the painter kept the work himself, refusing for it almost
fabulous prices.

" Mr. Manners, who in the meanwhile had made the artist's
acquaintance, sought by every means to possess hhnself of the
picture, without avail.

"'Surely,' said the young misses and the old gossips, 'it
must have a history! Marzan is as romantic as he is proud
and reserved, and has, no doubt, had more adventures than it
pleases him to relate.'

" ' Have you never observed,' said Clara B , ' how much

the lad resembles Marzan himself?'

'"And, surely, I have seen the girl somewhere. Who can

she be? Dear me, how provoking!' rejoined Julia G .

"Marzan's motive in exposing his picture of the Smile of
the Fountain is of course apparent enough; but it failed in
its intent, giving him no clue whatever to the solution of the
riddle of his life. The Exhibition closed, the picture came back,
and months yet flew by, while no trace could be found of
the stranger-lady.

"Marzan's acquaintance with Mr. Manners was followed by

repeated invitations to his house, which our hero, however, from

some cause, uniformly declined : though at length mere courtesy

forbade the right to deny the urgent and personal solicitations
3

34 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAJST LANDSCAPE.

of the gentleman. ' The party is to be a masque,' said Mr.
Manners. 'It is a fancy of my wilful child ; and, to tell the
truth, she is particularly desirous of your company. You must
not refuse us.'

" The hour for the much talked of entertainment arrived,
and Marzan set forth, though reluctantly, to keep his engage-
ment. If he felt any interest in the affair at all, it was in
the promise it gave him of meeting one of whose graces and
gifts he had heard so much. Still, this interest was not so
marked as to bring the slightest feeling of vexation, when he
learned that Edith was too indisposed to receive her guests.

" The evening wore on, with brilliant success. Frederic
found no want of occupation. He was an especial favourite
with everybody, young and old — with the gay and thoughtless,
for his graces and wit, and with the grave and wise, for his
sterling worth and wisdom. Many a fair masque greeted him,
and sometimes he would be challenged by a whole bevy of
madcaps. He played his part well, yet scarcely with the eclat
which his reputation promised. In truth, his interest was con-
centrated upon a fair form, simply clad, gliding hither and
thither, and winning but passing notice from any.

"'Who is yonder solitary lady?' he vainly asked of all
he met.

" After a while, stealing away from the gay groups, he
found himself, to his great relief, in a little boudoir at the
end of the rich suite of drawing rooms. Much to his surprise,
he saw among the decorations of the walls of this fairy
bower, several of his own early pictures, which had been pur-
chased in his humbler days by an unknown patron. He was
gazing at these surprises — a thousand novel thoughts and fancies
crowding his perplexed brain — when a hand was laid softly
upon his arm, and, turning quickly, he beheld the figure of
the humble masque.

THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN". 35

" * Are you a lover of art ?' she asked, pointing to the
pictures.

"'As a child loves its mother! Is it not the sunshine
and soul of my life ?'

" ' Ah, you are a painter then, sir ! How do you like my
friend Edith's gallery ?'

" Frederic shruo-Q-ed his shoulders, with an unaccountable
want of complaisance ; but it seemed not rude to the lady,
for she laughed gaily.

" ' Upon my word, you are no courtier,' said she. ' Cer-
tainly, your ungracious verdict cannot grow out of professional
jealousy. Come, be honest, and confess that he gives promise
— rare promise.'

" ' Certainly,' returned Marzan, abstractedly.

" ' Which he has nobly honoured,' continued the lady, ' in
his famous picture of the Smile of the Fountain, for the works
you see before you are from the easel of no humbler artist
than Frederic Marzan.'

" * Do you know,' she continued, seeing that her auditor
was little disposed to reply, ' why the artist so cherishes that
picture of the Fountain ?'

" ' Indeed, fair lady, how should I ?' answered Marzan, con-
descending at last to speak. ' Some caprice, perhaps, or '

" ' Or, perhaps, it may be the loving record of some story
of his hidden life. You painters and poets, I know, sometimes,
shrinking from fuller expression, indulge in the relief of such
vague confidences. The artist, I am told, has traced his own
features in the face of the hero ; and they say, that his earlier
life knew the poverty and struggle expressed in the character.
The heroine, too — if, as I doubt not, her portrait bo drawn
from nature — still remembers, if she ever felt, the Smile of
the Fountain.'

" ' No, no !' interrupted Marzan, sadly, ' if such a memory

BQ THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

ever interested ber heart, it must have been forgotten long ago.
"Women are too changeable to love so unselfishly or so con-
stantly.' *

" ' Fie ! ungallant masque ! Did I know the artist, and
know, too, the secret of his picture to be. such as my romance
has fashioned it, I would tell him that that fair face, his memory
has recalled, is the index of a soul earnest and devoted as his
own. There are women, sir, who can love from pure and truth-
ful impulses — love, entirely and forever, from impulses at vari-
ance with every lesson of selfishness. But men — are they capable
of such noble disinterestedness? Your artist here, alas! has most
likely forgotten, long ago, the Smile of the Fountain in the
more brilliant smiles of flattery and fame. It lives now in his
brain, and not in his heart. He remembers it as a graceful
theme for the display of his genius.'

" ' Madam !' gasped Marzan, impetuously, and as if utterly
forgetful of all but one thought, 'do not desecrate the most
holy memories by such light words. Spare me, I pray you;
I am that Frederic Marzan, and I loved the lady of the
Fountain.'

" ' And you still love her ?' asked the stranger, in a low,

tremulous voice.

" ' Now and ever ! Would that I could find her ! And
yet, it were better that I should not. Now, she is to me a
thought of beauty: to meet her again would be only to kill
that sweet memory; to meet her, and find in her eye and
heart no reflection of my own mad love.'

'"Folly, sir! Seek her, and you will find a reality more
beautiful than your abstraction. Believe me, that if she ever

loved you, she '

" ' And why do you speak so confidently ? who are you ?'
asked Marzan, seeking to read the features of the lady through
her masque. ' I am mad, no doubt ; but your earnest voice

THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 37

—jour merry laugli— I have heard both before! Heard them
in my dreams — am I dreaming now ? are you '

" ' An humble girl, not worth your better knowing. My
face does not wear your lost smile.'

" ' Still, let me see it ! I must see your face.'

" ' If you so much desire it,' the lady whispered, as she
removed her masque.

" ' I knew, I knew it must be so !' he cried, gathering the
light form of the now laughing girl in his passionate embrace.
'My long-sought treasure! Mine again, and always— however
poor and unfriended — however '

" ' Edith ! my daughter !' exclaimed the astonished Mr. Man-
ners, entering the little room at this surprising juncture.

" ' Edith Manners ?' repeated the scarcely less bewildered
artist.

" ' Edith Manners !' merrily echoed the beautiful girl, and
giving lum the hand which he had dropped —' Edith Manners,
the Smile of the Fountain !' "

Mr. Flakcwhit€ here ended his romance, amidst the thanks
and congratulations of his audience.

"Esther highfaluted," suggested Mr. Megilp. " Flake white
must feel relieved, with such a weight off his mind."

"A little agonizing, I admit," remarked the worthy chair-
man; "yet I shall always look upon the old fountain hereafter
with a new and loving interest, even though the association
be but imaginary."

" And besides," added Mr. Vermeillc, " our book must have
thought and fancy of every shade : which it Avill not lack,
if we each express ourselves in our stories as Flakewhite has
done. It is not likely that any two of us will think or feel
in the same vein. Brownoker, for instance, would have painted
Ihe fountain in a very different tone."

38 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" Apropos," said the gentleman just alluded to, " I must
tell you — ^yes, I know that it is getting late, but I will detain
you only a few minutes (this was addressed to Mr. Deepredde,
as lie took out liis watch, with a deprecatory look at the
speaker) — a little reminiscence of our theme, not quite so in-
tense as Flakewhite's, but equally ti-ue.

" Passing through the Park one quiet moonlight night, (will
that do for a beginning ?) I saw a citizen — whether Mr. Frederic
Marzan, or not, I cannot say — gazing fixedly into the fountain,
with a face and general expression of hopeless desolation which
reasonably enough might have brought to mind the figure of
Marius in the dumps at ruined Carthage. He had climbed
over the railing, and was perched upon the very brink of the
great basin, A few bubbles only fell from the jet to disturb
the water, leaving the reflections of all the suiTOundings
unbroken.

" ' Good gracious !' soliloquized the watcher, curiously peer-
ing into the flood, ' who the deuce has — ger-got into the fer-
fountain ? I say, you there, ster-stranger, wer-what are you
ber-ber — about, in there? That's a de-damp place, my fer-friend !
you'll catch ker-cold, I am afraid. I ker-can't hear wh-what
he says, but I see his lips me-move. Wh-what an ugly ker-
customer he is ! Wh-what a sh-shocking te-tile ! He must be
de-drunk — drunk !

" ' I say there — who's ger-got into the fer-fountain ? Does
yer m-mother know you're ou-out? — I m-mean does she know
yu-you're in ? You mustn't st-stay down there, old ch-chap !
Here, I'll l-lend you a h-hand. It sha'n't be ser-said that I
d-didn't help a f-fellow creatuj'e in der-distress ! Steady, now,
st-stranger,' — bending forward, and reaching down his arm to
aid his submerged companion, — 'st-steady, or you'll be up-s-set.
Why d-don't you talce hold ? Now ! Aye ?— c-can't reach ?
you're a der-darned fool !

THE MAN LN" THE FOUNTAIN". 89

" ' Decidedly he's d-drunk !' soliloquized the watcher, as he
rested a moment from his office as a member of the Humane
Society — 'd-drunk as the d — 1; but — I'll h-help him! Per-
perhaps he's a iirst-rate f-fellow — he m-must be — he looks a
good d-deal like m-me, when I'm excited. Here, old b-boy,
take my h-hand !'

" Here Marius, reaching over a little too far, fell forward,
and had I not caught him by the tail of his swiftly vanishing
coat, he would soon have found out who had 'g-got into the
f- fountain !'

" ' Thank you, my f-friend, you're a — b-brick,' he said, as I sat
him on his pins again. ' You're another s-sort, you are, from
that infernal s-scoundrel — d-down there in the f-fountain. When
I lent the ugly d-dog a hand, to h-help him out, he p-pulled
me in ! B-blame me if I ever h-help a f-fellow creature in
d-distress again !' "

A general laugh, and a general looking for hats, followed
Brownoker's "Smile" of the Fountain.

r

H^^

CHAPTER III.

" Now, gentlemen," said the respected chairman to the guests
gaily chatting around our blazing fire on the memorably cold
night of our next reunion, "if you are comfortably thawed,
we will take our seats, and, giving rein to the steeds of Mem-
ory and Fancy, prance along upon our journey."

"And where, pray, are we to go to-night?" asked Mr.
Brownoker, stumbling, as he turned to say it, upon the tender
toes of Mr. Blueblack.

"Go to "

"Virginia," we hastily added, by way of improving the
unpleasant itineraire which Blueblack was evidently marking
out for his awkward neighbour.

" A pleasant destination enough, and sufficiently warm even
for this wintry night," returned Brownoker. "Always count
me in, where the Old Dominion is concerned ;" and the united
lungs of the company merrily helped him through the chorus
of " Carry me back to old Virginny— to old Virginia's shore !''
"'Old Virginia's shore!'" musingly echoed Mr. Deepredde,
when the impromptu burst of melody had subsided—" a noble
theme, regarded in any and every light ; whether we consider

42 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the adventurous incidents of her early history, the bravery and
gallantry of her people, and their signal services to our coun-
try in every phase and period of its life ; or whether we
explore its rich and varied stores of natural beauties and
wonders."

" In the abundance and quality of her poetical and romantic
reminiscence and suggestion," said Mr. Vermeille, " Virginia is
unquestionably the laureate of our sisterhood of nations. She
was born of the most gallant and creative spirit, and in the
most daring and chivalrous age which the world has ever known
— the memorable and mighty days of Elizabeth — herself, if you
will, only the hard, ungiving flint, yet magically striking the
light of thought and action from all the dormant genius and
power which came within the range of her influence. Our
queenly State grew up a worthy daughter of her great parent-
age, and in all her history has evinced, as she still perpetu-
ates, its noble spirit. Her whole story is replete with musings
for the poet, and with philosophy for the historian. What a
web of romance may yet be woven from the record of the
dangers, trials, and hair-breadth 'scapes of her infant life ; from
the first venture of the restless Ealeigh, through all the bold
exploits of the gallant Smith, the troublesome diplomacy of
the wily Opecacanough, the dangerous jealousy of Powhattan,
the plots of the traitorous Bacon, to the thrilling drama of
the gentle Indian princess. And again, in older days — in the
days of border strife, of bold struggle with the united strategy
and cruelty of the French intrudpr and the vengeful red-skin
— she gives us chronicles which, while scarcely yielding in
dramatic interest to the incidents of earlier periods, rise higher
in the force of moral teachings ; while yet again, onward and
later, there opens to us the still more thrilling and more lofty
story of her mature life, in the proud deeds and grand results
of her participation in our eventful Revolution. The be-all

THE TRAVELLERS IN VIRGINIA. 43

and tlie end-all of tliat achievement it is not our place now
to ask. Much as the world has seen, and much more as it
hopes, of mighty consequence, the stupendous effect is not yet
felt, not yet dreamed of, perhaps; but for what has come, and
for what will come, to Virginia belongs much of the glory —
the glory of striking the first blow, by uniting the colonies
in resistance to foreign border encroachment ; while the last
blow, thirty long struggling years beyond, fell also from her
gauntletted hand, when the conquered Cornwallis laid down his
shamed sword on the plains of Yorktown. Yii-ginia then led
the sounding shout of freedom and empire which has danced in
glad echoes over the AUeghanies, skimmed the vast valleys of
the Mississippi and the prairies of the great West, crossed the
snow-clad peaks of the Eocky Mountains, and kissed the far-
ofi" floods of the Pacific — a shout which now, more than ever,
fills the rejoicing air, and which must grow in grandeur and
melody until it shall exalt and bless the heart of all the
earth."

"It was all a mistake, my dear boy," said Brownoker, grasp-
ing the hand of the exhausted Vermeille, " all an inexcusable
mistake, that you were not yourself born in the shadow of
the Blue Eidge ! You should have lineally descended from
that pretty brunette, Pocahontas, and have figured in the family
bible of the first of the first families ! Here ! light this pipe
of Eappahannoc, and give yet another puff to the fair god-
daughter of the virgin queen, and to the blessed memory of
Sir Walter, for the inestimable gift of the fragrant weed.
Truly you have said that the deeds of the ' Old Dominion'
supply volumes of romance and philosophy ;" and tlic grave
Brownoker dropped into a brown study, and seemed to l)e
rising to the height of the highest argument in each field, fact
and fiction, with the dense clouds of smoke which he sent
curling above his head.

44 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAK LANDSCAPE,

Vermeille's first impulse, upon this irreverent response to
his eloquence, was to extinguish the offender with the " rosy"
at his elbow, cas the good knight was " put out" by his fright-
ened servant, when all a-fire with the soul of old Virginia.
But he thought better of it, and quietly added to his eulogy
the suggested puff.

"I forgive your gross raillery," said he, "knowing, as I
do, that beneath your seeming earthiness there yet lives the
true spirit of poetry."

" Else, my dear Yermeille, should I not, like yourself, and
all of us here, spend my life in pursuit of the true and beau-
tiful in Nature and life. We are brothers in feeling, believe
me, though our thoughts do not patronize the same tailor
Forgive my interruption, and let us proceed. Who speaks
next ? ' Old Yirginny never tire,' as the poet has it."

" Among the proudest boasts that Virginia may make," said
Mr. Flakewhite, picking up the lost thread of the discourse,
"is the extraordinary number of great men which she has
given to the nation. During half the life-time of the Republic,
its highest office has been conferred upon her sons, who have,
in turn, nobly reflected back upon the country the honour
they have received. Not only has she been mother of many
and the greatest of our Presidents, but she has reared leaders
for our armies and navies, law-givers for our senates, judges
for our tribunals, apostles for our pulpits, poets for our closets,
and painters and sculptors for our purest instruction and our
highest and most enduring delight. Scanning the map of mid-
dle Virginia, the eye is continually arrested by hallowed shrines,
the birth-places, the homes, and the graves of those whom the
world has most delighted to honour. Here we pause within
the classic groves of Monticello, and look abroad upon the
scenes amidst which Jefferson so profoundly studied and taught
the world. There, in the little village of Hanover, the burning

GREAT MEN OF VIRGINIA. 45

words of Patrick Henry first awakened the glowing fire of
liberty in the bosoms of his countrymen ; and here, too, the
great Ckiy was nurtured in that lofty spirit of patriotism from
which sprung his high and devoted public service. Not far
off, we may bend again, reverently, over the ashes of Madison
and Munroe, of Lee and "Wirt, and of a host of others whom
but to mention would be a fatiguing task.

" Yet there remains unspoken, though not forgetfully, one
other name — the first and greatest, not of Virginia only, not of
this wide Eepublic alone, but of the world itself; a name
which may well and without other laurel glorify the brow of
a nation — the immortal name of Washington ! It is among
the regrets of my life that, when in Virginia, circumstances
denied me the coveted pleasure of visiting the sacred spot
which gave birth to the noblest of our race. Some one of
our number has, I hope, been more blest than I ; and to him
I will now give place."

" It is several years ago," said Mr. Blueblack, after a pause,
" that I made a pilgrimage into the pleasant fields of West-
moreland, and, upon the sunny banks of the Potomac, mused
over the birth-place of Washington. The landscape, in its
broad and simple, 3^et picturesque and genial character — in its
spirit of solemn, yet happy quiet — induced reflection admirably
harmonious with the temper of him whose life and deeds have
cast over it an universal and unfading attraction and beauty.
I need not say that the hours flew swiftly, as I recalled all
the absorbing pages of that great history, of wiiicli the spot
was the winning initial letter. Yet, with my pleasure, were
mingled some regretful thoughts : meditations upon our want
of that feeling of veneration and reverence by which tlie mem-
ory of the past is kept green and its examples and teachings
preserved. The destruction of the religious and poetic element
under the crushing weight of the rubbish of that gross mate-

46 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

rialism which we dignify with the names of practicality and
action; — this unlovely phase of our national character was here
strikingly evident, in the utter neglect of this the most hallowed
spot in our land — a spot which should be adorned by the best
efforts of our liberality and our art, and which should be a
Mecca to our feet. And yet, of all our millions of people,
rarely does a solitary pilgrim seek this holy ground ; and not
the poorest votive offering, not the simplest monument, marks
the spot to recall to ourselves, or to our children, its beauti-
fully suggestive story."

"Do we need such symbols?" asked Mr. Brownoker, "in
this rational age, which very properly values and remembers
action by its results only ? Feeling as we do, everywhere
around us, the influences of great virtues and great genius,
what matters it to us from whom or from where we have
received them. In the dark and ignorant days of the past,
monuments and statues may have been public instructors ; but
we learn by better means. Do they not savour of that spirit
of superstition ever akin to ignorance and weakness?"

" It is," resumed Mr. Blueblack, " this very practical tendency,
with its disdain for forms, which you commend, that makes it
of the greater importance to cherish these outward symbols of
the inner soul, lest with the one, the other shall cease to be
remembered. In the same spirit, you would doubtless pull
down the soaring spires which direct our thoughts to heaven,
cease the ceremonies of our sacred worship, and trust the
preservation of religious and moral principle to the pure con-
science of each man alone. But that, alas ! may not be. The
world is not good and holy enough to dispense Avith these
monitors. Virtuous promptings and reproofs are still of use.
If there be weakness confessed, and credulity evinced, in a
regard for the forms and draperies of truth, let us still
acknowledge that we are not gods, rather than, in losing all

MO]SrUMENTS AND STATUES. 47

sight and tliouglit of virtue and beauty, sho\7 ourselves to be
brutes. Besides, it is but just to those whose lives and deeds
have blessed us, and to their children forever, that we should
acknowledge and reward their services. It is but wise in
ourselves to use the incentive to virtuous achievement, which
we maj find in the remembrance and hope of the honours
thej win."

" ' The lives of great men all remind us M^e can make our
lives sublime,'" suggested Professor Scumble. "Let us, in every
possible way, venerate the past, lest the present come, in turn,
to dishonour."

"Even denying," said Mr. Flakewhite, "the great moral
influence and need of such outward expression of our hearts, as
we can make in the employment of monuments and kindred
objects, they are still of inestimable value as missionaries of
the refining and spiritualizing lessons of art : priceless even as
ministers to our intellectual delight ; to be dearly cherished if
only for the innocent gratification which they bring to the
senses."

" Permit me to relate," said Mr. Beepredde, " while I think
of it, a little anecdote illustrating the relative respect of our
own and other nations for hallowed objects and scenes. The
incident occurred while I Avas once passing down the Potomac.
Nearing Mount Vernon, the passengers were, as is customary,
informed of the fact by the ringing of the bell, and soon most
of them were gathered on the side of the boat. While our own
people were gazing with idle curiosity or seeming indifference,
some by the expression of their faces seeming to say, as they
looked upon the home and tomb of the Father of his Country
'Well! what of it?' and others, by their looks, evidently think-
ing the whole thing but a shabby sort of affair : some passen-
gers in the group — French gentlemen — gravely removed their
hats and stood uncovered as the boat glided by : a deserved

48 THE BOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

rebuke, which was keenly felt by every conscious scoffer and
careless spectator."

"By the way," added the chairman, turning to us as he
finished his story, "is it intentionally, that you have led us to
Virginia on this especial night of the memorable twenty-second
of February, the anniversary of the chiefest event in her
history?"

" Our sermon," we returned, now for the first time producing
our picture of the bkth-place of "Washington, "has singularly
enough followed its unknown text. Our choice has been made
not accidentally, but with reference to the occasion, and with the
thought that it would well follow the ceremonies and reflections
of the day."

"An admirable chronicle of the spot," said Mr. Blueblack,
as, with all the company, he bent over Mr. Chapman's graphic
drawing.

"Let us thank Chapman," said Mr. Vermeille, "for his
monument to the birth-place of Washington. It is not very
pretending, but yet it will, with its still small voice, speak
pleasantly and usefully to many hearts."

" In parenthesis," said Brownoker. " Chapman is himself
a Yirginian. Pie has given us a worthy token of his home
love, in the picture of the baptism of Pocahontas, in the Ro-
tunda of the Capitol. I could have wished that he had taken
the more dramatic story of the rescue of Smith — an event of
national interest, upon which turned the destiny of the State;
while the baptism, however pleasing an incident, might or
might not have occurred, and either waj' with no particular
sequence."

"Apropos, of our picture," said another speaker. "Is it not
strange that while Virginia is no less singularly interesting in
her physical than in her moral aspect, she has won so little of
the attention of our landscapists? Despite the extent and

THE LANDSCAPE OF VIRGINIA. 49

variety of her scenery, from the alluvial plains of the eastern
division, through the picturesque hills and dales of the middle
region, onward to the noble summits of the Blue Eidge, with
their intervening valleys and mountain streams and waterfalls,
the white-cotton umbrella of the artist has scarcely ever been
seen to temper its sunshine, except in a few instances of par-
ticularly notable interest — as the Natural Bridge, and the grand
views near Harper's Ferry. The landscape of Virginia is every-
where suggestive ; and, even in the least varied regions, con-
tinually rises to the beauty of a fine picture. There are the
rich valleys of the James and the Eoanoke rivers, said in
many of their characteristics to resemble the beautiful scenery
of the Loire and the Garonne ; and far off, among the hills, are
the rushing and plunging waters of the great Kanawha, and the
beetling cliffs of New River. Verily, we painters have too much
neglected our duties and privileges in this case."

"Too much 'renounced the boundless store of charms which
Nature to her votary yields,' " echoed Professor Scumble.

"The brother seems to forget," said Mr. Brownoker, "that
the field which we have to cultivate is of vast extent, and that
numerous and gifted as are our landscape painters, they have
yet scarcely had opportunity to look about them. In due time
the forests and fields of "Virginia, as of all the land, will find
fitting record. That the landscape of the Northern States
should first win the study of our artists, is natural enough, if
but from the more ready access they have to it — the chief
portion of them being gathered in this great centralizing city
of New York. At present, the scenery of Virginia is better
known to the general traveller than to the artist; which per-
haps comes from the social attractions of the famous watering
places, and the extraordinary number of eccentricities in the
landscape; neither of which are greatly sought by the artist,
much and properly so, as they may charm the mere pleasure-
4

50 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

seeking tourist. Every body goes to that wonderful place, the
Natural, or, as in its massive grandeur and its strange form it
appears to the astonished eye, the Unnatural Bridge ; while the
most blasd curiosity is always raised in the ghostly halls of the
great weird caves — Brownoker will take notice that no pun is
intended."

" You seemed," interrupted Mr. Brownoker, " to think the
cave weird enough on that unlucky visit we made last summer,
when, after much vain effort to get out, we finally laid down to
rest and to wait for daylight, — and kept waiting for forty-eight
long hours, — waiting, afraid to step, lest we should jump from
Scylla to Charybdis — waiting until our anxious friends discovered
us, in a rayless nook of the Dragon's rooms, exactly a dozen
steps from the entrance and all out-doors! and it is not sur-
prising that the terrible Bridge appeared somewhat wn-natural
to you, when your self-sacrificing gallantry so fatally led you to
climb beyond return, after the flower of a certain fair girl's
wish, and you hung like the samphire gatherer at his dreadful
trade, the laugh, the jest, and riddle of the world — of merry and
provoking eyes below you."

" I once," said Mr. Megilp, " had the folly to venture, alone,
amidst the dark and dangerous passages of "Weir's Cave, and I
was lost to the world for four mortal days, during all which
dreadful time I was vainly seeking a means of egress. My
torches were all burnt out, and I went day after day, and night
after night, wandering up and down from one ghostly chamber
to another: now thumping my aching head against the pillars
of ' Solomon's Temple' : now entrapped, apparently past all
rescue, in the labyrinth of the 'Lawyer's OflGice': now whirled
around distractedly on the spacious floor of the ' Ball Room' :
asking a bill of relief in the ' Senate Chamber' : making the air
vocal with my cries of distress at the base of ' Paganini's
Statue' : and anon freezing to death in ' Jacob's "Well,' with

\

ADVENTURE IN WEIR'S CAVE. 61

no vision of a ladder by which to escape. It was a fearful
imprisonment, the very recollection of which, even at this re-
mote day, makes my blood run cold. All my garments were
torn from my back, and my flesh was horribly lacerated by
continual rubs against the sharp angles of the stalactites. I—"

"You must have had a very hard time indeed," interrupted
Blueblack, with an incredulous smile. "How did you manage
to live?"

"To live?"

"Yes: what did you find to eat through all that extra-
ordinary four days?"

"Ah, yes! I lived— lived— on fish!"

"Fish! Where did you get them?"

"Get them? Oh, you know — those odd chaps, the eyeless
animals— not equal to fresh shad, but still quite tolerable in
an emergency — they taste a good deal like — "

"You must make a mistake," persisted Blueblack. "You
could hardly have lived on the eyeless fish, since they are to
be found not in Weir's, but in the Great Mammoth Cave of
Kentucky. Are you quite sure?"

"Aye, well now, really, perhaps I may be wrong.. But the
fact is I lived — on something — let me see — but you know, I
was so dreadfully alarmed at my extraordinary situation, that
r really did not, do not, know how I lived— but that — "

"You are dreaming, is very probable," said the disbelieving
Blueblack. "But come, you have told us a very capital story,
and it shall have all the credit it deserves."

The company, assuring Mr. Megilp that they were not to be
sold at so low a rate, rallied him merrily upon the painful ex-
ploits of his fancy, and the grave current in which the talk of
the evening had thus far run, changed to a strain of light
humour and gay recollection; a strain which the reader would
no doubt be pleased to follow, Avcre we not inexorably corn-

62 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

pelled to omit tlie entire record from our minutes, lest we
should lack space and time to report the closing episodes of
the night. Among these interesting passages was an imaginary
peep into the eventful and dangerous life of the early days of
Virginia, afforded us by Mr. Blueblack in his touching tale of

f ittk €m\u gtunntrliit,

" The hearts of the brave colonists were heavy within them.
Misfortunes and afflictions had so thickened upon and crushed
them, that they were fain, even, to look askance upon their old
friend Hope, so often had Hope cruelly betrayed them.

" At the time of which we speak, the numbers of the little
settlement — few at best — were gradually growing less, under the
triple scourge of famine, pestilence, and the vengeful hatred
of their savage neighbours. The good ship which was daily
expected to bring relief to the sufferers, came not. In vain,
with each succeeding dawn, did they strain their watchful eyes
to catch a glimpse of its distant sails, and turn again in despair
to the supplicating faces of their dying friends.

" It needed all the strength and courage of the bravest to
support and cheer the weak and desponding ; and, happily,
brave hearts were not wanting in the hour of trial, though
they sometimes came from unexpected quarters. Vapouring
strength soon burnt to empty ashes in the fiery furnace of sor-
row, and the true heroism blazed forth under its humblest
disguises. Among the strong souls which the exigencies of the
times developed was that of our heroine, Little Emma Mun-
nerlin, or Little Emma, as she had been always called, not
so much from her physical diminutiveness, though she was
but a wee thing, as from the quiet gentleness and the tender
delicacy of her character. People lamented that a plant so

LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 53

fragile should not grow in a less rude soil ; yet, as the dainty
forest-flower lives unscathed on its Alpine rock, while the giant
trees fall prostrate, so our little Emma withstood many storms
to which sterner natures succumbed.

"Little Emma lived much among her own quiet thoughts
and dreams. She seldom had a great deal to say, and her
general humour was more pensive than merry ; yet when
tongues were silent, and hearts grew heavy around her, smiles
sprang into beautiful life upon her loving lips, and soothing
and cheering words fell from them, abundant and grateful as
jewelled drops of summer showers.

" Little Emma, in her modest humility, never ventured to
question the wisdom even of her mates; and yet now, when
experienced matrons, and bearded men, and hoary-headed men
were brought, the}'' scarce knew how, to learn from her coun-
sels, they stood in her simple presence with some such feeling
of wondering reverence as that which filled the hearts of the
Doctors while listening in the Temple to the preaching of the
Holy Child.

" Little Emma was by nature, physically and morally, at
most times, extremely timid and sensitive ; all ugly objects, all
evil thoughts, all human suffering, brought pain to her delicate
soul ; and yet now, no one was found so continually at the
couch of the sick and dying, no one so unwearied in her sacri-
fices, as she. From morn to night, she was the gentle dove
bearing the olive-branch of hope from door to door ; and but
lately, she had saved the colony, by boldly venturing among
the savage tribe into whose hands they had fallen, to exert
the powerful influence which she had strangely won over them,
through the stern heart of the young chieftain.

" This singular conquest of poor little Emma's had long
been as much a matter of fear as of rejoicing to the people ;
for while they congratulated themselves upon the protection

54 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

which it gave them, they shuddered at thought of the danger
to which it might expose the gentle child. And now, when
the extraordinary beauty and worth of Little Emma's character
was daily growing into the knowledge and the love of the
people, they watched with terror the strengthening passion of
the savage wooer, trembling lest it might at some time over-
step the sacred bounds to which the same power which had
inspired had thus far restrained it.

"Great as was the general concern on this score, there was
one who, far above all others, w^as tortured by apprehension
and dread— a worthy youth, who had been more prompt than
others to discover the charm of Little Emma's nature, or had
rather, perhaps, been drawn unconsciously within the spell of
its influence; one whose assumed right to advise and guard
her, she had never thought to deny.

" Often and earnestly did this privileged friend remonstrate
with her upon the rash confidence with which she ventured
among her savage admirers, and more especially did he warn
her against the danger of her unsuspecting trust of the enam-
oured chief.

" ' It is true,' said he, ' that he possesses a native dignity,
chivalry, and refinement of nature unwonted to his people, and
strange to all the circumstances and influences under which he
has been born and bred — characteristics which his extraordinary
esteem for you has wonderfully developed and exalted. Thus
far, the truth and depth of his passion— for he loves you with
a sincere and pure worship that would do honour to the most
Christian soul — has made him the humble and yielding slave
to your will; but have a care, my darling, lest he become
mad in the tortures of hope delayed, and this same earnest-
ness and truth which, thus far, have been your shield, should
turn to your destruction. I tremble when I think of the
terrible mine under your feet, and which a single spark of

LITTLE EMilA MUNNERLIX. 55

fancied scorn may spring. Believe me, Emma dear, tliat you
are playing witli a sleeping lion.'

" These ■warnings, often repeated, were not without their
effect upon the mind of Little Emma, especially when, as she
sometimes did, she thought she discovered a growdng expres-
sion of restless and angry impatience in the dark eyes and
the passionate words of her savage wooer ; yet she still con-
tinued to meet him freely and frankly when he came, as he
often did, to the village — as he had done, indeed, through all
his life.

" ' What have I to fear ?' she said to her own heart ;
' and if there is danger, I cannot, to save myself, bring down
their fearful vengeance upon all my beloved friends. What
is my poor useless life in comparison with the general hap-
piness ?'

" At length when, in one of these frequent interviews,
Outalissi — so was the chief named — sat by the river-side, at
the feet of Gentle-Heart, as in his poetic tongue he called our
Little Emma, he told her the story of his love, in a voice
so soft yet so earnest, and in words so simple yet so passion-
ate, that her tender heart overflowed with intense interest and
sympathy, as she sought to calm his wild emotion, and to
teach him how impossible it was for the white dove to mate
with the lordly eagle.

" Edward Harrison, the youth of whom we have before
spoken, and who of late had never lost sight of his betrothed,
had been for some time an unobserved spectator of this scene.
He now stood forth, with pallid face and angry eyes. Outa-
lissi started to his feet as he clutched the weapon at his side,
and glared upon the intruder with all the savagery of his
race.

" Little Emma sprang to cast her shielding arms about her
lover, while she bent a reproachful and imploring look upon

56 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the cliief. The group stood thus, motionless and voiceless, foi
some moments, when the Indian, with a bitter and meaning
glance, which made the white youth tremble, and sank like
ice into the heart of our heroine, turned slowly away, and
was soon lost to sight in the darkening depths of the forest

" ' This can last no longer,' said Edward, when his speech
came back to him, ' happen what may.'

" ' No, no !' said the trembling girl, ' we must not madden
him, and bring down the anger of his tribe upon our defence-
less people, now, when they have so many other afflictions to
bear. You must seek him — bring him back, and '

" ' Ha ! is it so ?' said the lad, with a bitter, unnatural
laugh, ' You cannot part with him ! He has then stolen away
your treacherous heart ! You love this '

" ' This — this from you, Edward !' gasped the poor child,
stung to the soul by his cruel words. ' He — ^he might kill
rae, but he could not be unkind as you.'

" ' Forgive me — forgive me, Emma ! I did not mean to say
that. I was mad, and knew not what I did. But promise me
that you will see him no more ; promise me this, or' •

"'Do not look upon me so! I cannot bear it! I — I
promise !'

"Days passed on, and Outalissi came back. He met Little
Emma in the streets of the village, but she avoided him. He
sought her at her OAvn home, but was denied. He sent her
messages, but received no answers. A heavy shadow darkened
his brow, and chilled the hearts of the affrighted people. Their
distress was hourly increasing, and hope and heaven seemed to
have deserted them when Little Emma smiled no more.

" As a last stru2;2;le against the famine which surrounded
them, the best and bravest of the colonists now set forth on a
forlorn quest for food. The vague forebodings with which they
undertook their dangerous mission proved to be not unreal ; for

LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 67

the last drop seemed poured into the cup of the sufferers at
home when the intelligence was brought them, not simply that
the errand was fruitless, but that their fathers and brothers and
lovers were captives in the strong hands of Outalissi.

" A cry of despair now arose from the hearts of all the
devoted villagers, which was soon hushed into a strange ex-
pectant stillness when the whisper grew that the exasperated
chief refused all ransom for his captives but the willing hand
of Little Emma.

" ' Save us ! Save my father, save my son, — my brother 1'
was the universal and agonized voice, as the poor people gath-
ered around the devoted girl, when she appeared calm as a
statue, but as lifeless and as cold, in their midst. And then
other thoughts and emotions rushing into their hearts, they
forbade her to leave them, crying, ' We will all die together.'

" With a look as fixed, and a tongue as speechless, as that
with which she came, Little Emma went back to her silent
home, where she refused all counsel and all companionship.

*' The day for the payment of the exacted ransom, when, if
it were not made, the captives were doomed to death, ap-
proached, and an awful stillness reigned through the stricken
village. All resistance was vain, and there was left but one
hope — a hope of which they dared not speak or think.

" Painfully and terribly different was the scene in the camp
of Outalissi. Here a wild revelry rung through the air, as the
delighted savages danced and shouted around their expected
victims.

" Casting a last eager but disappointed look into the gath-
ering gloom, Outalissi turned to give the order for the massacre
of his captives, when a shrill cry rose above all the mad con-
fusion, and, the next instant, every sound was hushed as a

58 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

young girl sprung into the midst of the grim throng and stood
before the chief

" ' Stay — stay your bloody hands,' she cried, ' I am yours —
release your captives. Ah! Outalissi, is it thus you woo me?'

" ' It is well, maiden,' he said, and in a few brief words he
explained to the captives the terms upon which their lives and
safety had been purchased.

" ' You are free, my brothers,' he added, as he took the
passive hand of Gentle-Heart in his own.

'' * Never, wretch !' cried Edward Harrison, as, breaking the
thongs by which he was still bound, and snatching the hatchet
from the hands of his guard, he sprung towards the chief

"'Stop, stop,' shouted Little Emma — 'you will but slay us
all ! He keeps his promise in setting you at liberty, and I — I
must keep mine! Go home — go, Edward — go, my father — go,
my friends, carry joy with you to many breaking hearts! Pray
for, but do not mourn for Little Emma!'

" The solemn earnestness of the child's words, and the lofty
courage which spoke in her whole air and action, paralyzed
the tongues and the hearts of her friends and excited the won-
dering admiration of the disappointed savages. It was one of
those supreme moments, which bring forth all the purest emo-
tions of the human heart; and Outalissi felt its hallowed spell.
With his native nobility and generosity of character, he again
took the hand of Little Emma and placed it with a sad smile
in that of his rival.

" ' Gentle-Heart may go back to her own people,' said he.
' She is too good for Outalissi !'

" I need not speak of the joy of the happy captives, or of
the glad greeting which welcomed their triumphant return.
Still less need I tell you how Outalissi faithfully protected
Gentle-Heart and her people, for natures like his err only for
a moment; or of the sunshine which lighted the after life of

TOM, DICK, A^'D HAERY. 59

Little Emma, for sucli souls as hers live always in sunshine —
the sunshine of their own pure and beautiful thoughts."

We must omit the record of the congratulations and com-
ments which followed Blueblack's deeply affecting narrative,
further than to mention a remark with which Mr. Brownoker
introduced another and gaj^er story.

"I have a high respect for 'Little Emma,'" said that gen-
tleman, " but I must protest against such agonizing histories,
when one has no handkerchief in his pocket. I can give you
a much more cheerful reminiscence of Virginia, if you would
like to hear it, as of course you would— don't shake your heads,
for you must submit. My heroine is another kind of youno-
person from Blueblack's, but then you know it takes all sorts
of people to make a world. 'Tis a little personal adventure —
happened on a visit to the Springs. I call it

Com, Dick, iintr Parrjj,

" Dick Bones was about to be married, and I was on the

road to the fu the wedding I mean. The affair was to

come off at the White Sulphur Springs. I looked over the
way-bill before stepping into the coach : found only one pas-
senger— Brown ; but who the deuce Brown was, didn't know —
didn't want to know : plump'd myself down on the back seat
— and a bundle, which bundle on inspection proved to be
Brown in person and in a passion — said ' How are you ?' to him :
don't like to repeat what he said to me in reply. Tried to
sleep, but what with the everlasting jolting over the hills —
Byron was right in saying, ' High mountains are a feeling' —

60 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

and Brown's distressing dreams of a certain faithless Jemima,
couldn't manage it.

" ' She never loved me !' muttered Brown.

" ' Served you right,' said I.

" ' Peace, peace, weary heart !' he continued,

" ' Yes, peace, peace, for heaven's sake,' I answered. But
there was no peace till morn, when, just as I w\^s wondering
what 'perilous stuff' was weighing upon the heart of my
fellow traveller, I caught a glimpse of his sad phiz, and to
my amazement recognized my old, long-absent friend, Harry,
who, as it turned out, was, like myself, going to 'assist' at
the sacrifice of our mutual crony, Dick Bones.

'"Alas, poor Dick!' said I, as the conversation turned upon
the fate of our friend. ' This is a world of vicissitudes ; who
would have thought it?'

" ' Cut down in the flower of his youth !' said Harry, with
a commiserating sigh.

" ' Verily, we know not what an hour or a day may bring
forth,' I answered. ' Even you, Harry— you, the high priest of
our bachelor faith, are not secure. Some treacherous Jemima — '

" ' Jemima !' cried Harry, with a look of conscious guilt that
confirmed my suspicions of his backsliding.

" ' May yet come to break your virtuous rest and disturb
your innocent dreams.'

" ' Did I dream last night, Tom, and aloud ?'

" ' Yery loud, about '

" ' Say no more, Tom — I own up ! I have been weak, but
it's all over, long ago, and Harry is himself again. But the
temptation was great' — so were Brown's sighs, as he continued.
*The beauty and graces of my Jemima might have tried the
sternest virtue; and when she persuaded me that her dainty
heart was all my own, and that she could live only in the
light of my dear love, what could I do but '

TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 61

" ' Think it all gammon, as became the spirit of your
bachelor creed.'

" ' As it all proved, indeed, to be ; for when, on my recent
return from China, whither I went to win a fortune for the
darling girl, I rushed to receive her welcoming embrace, what
should I learn but that, while writing everlasting fidelity to
me, she had been talking devoted love to another, and at that
moment was dying for a third happy man— some richer prize
than either myself or my unknown fellow sufferer. She and
her innocent victim, whom she is soon to marry, are now I
am told, at the Springs, where we may have the pleasure of
meeting them.'

'"And this, then, Harry, is your heroic recantation of error!'
said I; but I had not the impudence to rally my poor friend
very severely, not being myself too strongly armed in honesty ;
for the fact is, I, too, had once fancied myself the light and
life of a Jemima's soul, only to find myself put out, as I
might have expected, by the first brighter luminary which
crossed the Jemima orbit. All this I generously confessed to
Harry, much to his delight and comfort; and we talked for
hours about the vanity of women and the fallacy of love,
rejoicing at our own lucky escape from their insidious snares,
mourning over the mad credulity of our benighted friend, Dick,
and becoming more inexorable bigots in the bachelor faith than
ever. Promising ourselves no little amusement in rejoining our
fickle goddesses at the Springs — for there, too, I expected to
find my Jemima — the day wore on, and our journey came to
an end.

"We arrived, fortunately, in season to greet and rally our
devoted friend, Dick, before the hour of sacrifice. We did not
spare the fellow, I assure you ; indeed, we were the more im-
placable in the stinging remembrance of our own short-comings.

" ' That's all very well, boys,' said Dick, with an imper-

62 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

turbable and complacent smile. ' But let me tell you, scoffers
as you are, that if tlie time lias not yet come, it may come,
when each of you will have

" some plan

To ■win himself a loving wife,
And be a married man."

When that hour does come, I only hope that you will find
as beautiful and pure a shrine at which to confess your sins
as I have. But come, I must present you to my jewel. It
will be a pleasant surprise to her, for you must know that
Jemima is acquainted with you both.'

" ' Jemima again !' I exclaimed.

" ' Jemima !' echoed Harry.

" ' Jemima know me !' cried both of us.

" ' Come, come along, boys !' interrupted Dick impatiently,
dragging us towards a gay circle, and presenting us to its
bright particular star.

'*■ ' Jemima, my love, I have the unexpected pleasure to
bring you our old friends, Tom and Harry.'

"As the lady turned to greet us, I stood petrified at dis-
covering the very Jemima of my own love, and looking round
at the sound of a stifled laugh at my elbow, I found Harry
Brown choking with glee.

" Harry looked at me, and I looked at Harry, and we
both looked at Dick, and Dick looked at Jemima, and Jemima
looked at all of us, and a more striking tableau, altogether,
it would be very difficult to imagine !

" ' Aye, how ?' said Dick at last, nervously. ' What does all
this mean, boys?'

" ' That the lady should have been off with the old love
before being on with the new,' said I.

" ' That she should, pursuant to promise, have died long

TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 63

ago, all for the love of poor Harry Brown,' said my travelling
friend.

"But the scene which followed was entirely too dramatic
for my poor powers of description ; and I will simply add, that
Dick very soon saw through the whole affair, and the bride
elect was given to understand that he was not generous enough
to content himself with a third place in her heart, and was too
unselfish to stand in the way of his old friends !

" The match was broken off, and from that day to this our
glorious triumvirate of bachelors has continued intact and in-
vincible; so much so that we are known among our acquaint-
ances by the soubriquet of the Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego
of celibates, having all passed through the burning fiery fur-
nace of love unscathed.

" You will, perhaps, suppose that with this triple weight of
blighted affection on her memory, Jemima soon died of a bro-
ken heart, but I assure you that she is still alive and as ready
as ever for a first, fresh, and undying affection."

On motion, meeting adjourned.

CHAPTER lY.

Having expressed a fear that our friends would grow weary
of their self-imposed task, and most heartily wish our book at
the — ^printers, we were cheered by a unanimous assurance of
a deep and increasing interest in our reunions.

"We need," said Mr. Deepredde, gravely, "in our profes-
sion, as in all, and indeed in our whole social economy, more
such fraternal association. It is the moral and intellectual
sunshine which warms the hidden germ of thought into life,
and matures it into the most thorough and successful achieve-
ment. It is, in its multiform applications and uses, the lever
which, of all others, must pry our poor sunken world out of its
quagmire of ignorance and evil, and bring about — 'if it is ever
to be brought about — the much talked of perfectibility of our
race."

" It strengthens those bonds of mutual esteem and love,"
added Mr. Flakewhite, " which smooth the rude places in our
path, and make us hopeful and daring in the armour of the
assured sympathy and appreciation of our confreres. How much
more should we painters not do, if there dwelt between us that
brotherly love which filled the soul of Gainsborough, when he
5

66 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

joyfully exclaimed to the friends gathered about his dying
coucli, ' We are all going to Heaven, and Vandyke will be
of the party !' "

" At any rate," said Brownoker, " such reunions as ours,
whatever they may be more aesthetically considered, are in-
valuable, if but for the pleasure they bring while they last.
They cheer the present hour, and if we could be rational
enough to content ourselves with this power, always within the
reach, of enjoying the present moment, without, like the silly
pendulum in the fable, burthening it with the thought of la-
bours and trials not yet arrived, the aggregate would be a
life-time of gladness. How the mountain of our miseries would
sink, would we but cease to throw upoii it the sorrows of the
past, which we cannot recall, and the fears of the future, which
is beyond our foresight or control."

" "Well, gentlemen," resumed Mr. Deepredde, as he sought
to make himself more permanently comfortable in his chair of
state, " now that we have satisfied ourselves that it is good for
us to be here, let us convince our readers that it is salutary for
them also, by continuing the special discourse for which they
have so kindly yielded to us their patient buttons. Spread out
your map, my dear host, and let us define our position."

" We have one more tramp to make in the Old Dominion,
as we follow Washington through the icy floods of the Alle-
ghany," we replied, producing Mr. Huntington's picture of that
memorable adventure.

The members having duly studied the sketch of the evening,
unanimously called upon the chairman for a resume of the
cause, course, and consequence of the event which it recorded.

" The incident which our picture commemorates," said Mr.
Deepredde, " had a great effect upon the fortunes of our coun-
try, and was very significant of that high principle in the
character of Washington — his conscientiousness and lofty respect

THE ALLEGHAXY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 67

for duty — from which chiefly sprung the virtues and successes
of his life. It may be less tedious, perhaps, if I make my narra-
tive in the fashion of a romance."

A general cry of approval followed this suggestion, and
the entire table seemed not a little curious to witness the debut
of the grave chairman on the treacherous stage of fictiom

" Pray don't drown yourself in pathos," said Brownoker,
laughingly.

" Or disappear in the mystic labyrinth of plot and strategy,"
added Yermeille.

" Or kill us outright," continued Flakewhite, " by being, like
Holmes, as 'funny as you can.'"

" Above all be truthful, and do not exceed sober fact,"
added the conscientious Megilp.

" Gentlemen," said the afflicted novelist elect, " you must
expect neither pathos, plot, humour, nor dramatic effect from me.
They are not in my line. The truth, however, you shall have —
and it seems to me a truth worth treasuring — which we may
read in the story of

C|^ ^llcgljaun; or, Clje HVdii of ^\i%

All tongues were hushed, and an unwonted gravity spread
over the company, as Mr. Deepredde thus solemnly and omi-
nously announced his text. The general breathing, however,
was more free when he thus began: —

" A hundred years have gone since the incidents which I
am about to narrate transpired : a long, long lapse, gentlemen,
in our country's brief life, and full of changes as the interval
between childhood and manhood.

"Gazing pensively into the passing floods of the Rappa-

68 THE KOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE.

hannoc, as if asking of the murmuring Avaters the story of her
future life, sat a fair maiden, apparently of some sixteen tender

summers.

" ' Would he leave me thus,' said she, ' if indeed he loved
me? Does true love bend to any stronger passion? He talks
to me of honour and duty! What is honour, what is duty,

when '

" Here the soliloquist abruptly stopped, as a bounding step
broke the quiet of the still night, and brought a stalwart and
handsome youth to her side.

" ' Honour and duty, my dear Martha,' said the lad, bending
over her with an expression of kind yet grave reproof, 'are,
not the rivals but the kindred of love. It would be a joy
indeed for me to be always near you, but that may not be.
Life has its labours and its sacrifices, in the manly and hon-
est discharge of which we may earn a generous relish for its

pleasures.'

" ' And onust you go then, dear George ? What is the
necessity for this dangerous and wearisome expedition? Why
cannot some other perform the task as well as you?'

" ' Ah ! do not tempt me ! You do not speak with your
characteristic generosity. Eemember that the welfare of our
countiy demands the labour and services of all her sons, and
of her daughters, too,' he added, kissing her fair brow; 'and
your only feeling on the subject should be one of pride that
our worthy Governor has honoured me with so important a

trust.'

"'I am proud,' said the girl, ' of the high confidence reposed
in you, and I am sure that you will prove yourself in all
ways deserving of it. Heaven will protect you, and bring you
back to me in safety. I have been told many stories, before
the present, of your brave obedience to the calls of duty,
and such a trait cannot but lead to success and happiness in

THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE ilAK OF DUTY. 69

life. But not to-morrow, George— you do not go to-morrow ?
You will give me one more day?'

To-morrow, Martha, at dawn, we must begin our march.
The journey through the wilderness will be long, and it is
imjDortant to the colony that we reach the French posts on
the Ohio without unnecessary delay, that we may seasonably
check their ambitious and aggressive schemes to hem us in on
this side of the mountains.'

"'And have we not room enough?'

'"Plenty, at present,' laughed the lad; 'but a hundred years
hence, we shall stretch our giant arms far beyond the Ohio—
perhaps even to the distant waters of the Pacific. Who can
read the destiny of this new and aspiring land ?'

'"Well, well,' sighed the young girl. 'I do not quite
understand these things, but I can sympathize with your en-
thusiasm and your courage, and I will pray earnestly for your
success.'

"Long and lovingly did the youthful pair stroll up and
down the noiseless river banks, until the lapse of time com-
pelled the lad to guide his betrothed to her home hard by,
and to seek that repose he himself so much needed before
repairing to Williamsburg, to receive his instructions and com-
mence his perilous explorations.

" On the following morning, the 81st of November, 1753,
a morning which, happily, was auspicious in its brightness'
the good Governor Dinwiddie and the people of Williamsburg
gave our adventurer God speed, and he set out with his few
companions on his dreary traverse of the great untrodden wil-
derness. Those who pass, at the present day, over the route
which our young ambassador pursued, will scarcely infor from
its condition now, the dangers which then beset it; with no
path but the rough guidance of the compass, and with no
inhabitants but wild beasts and scarcely less wdd savages.

70 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" During the first fortnight, the little party traversed alter-
nate forest and settlement, passing over the ground where now
stand Fredericksburg, Alexandria, and Winchester. At the
expiration of this period, they reached the last verge of civi-
lization, at the junction of Wills' Creek and the Potomac, now
occupied by the busy streets of Cumberland, in Maryland. At
this period, the spot was marked by the poor settlement only
of the famous hunter, Christopher Gist, Here our travellers
proposed to halt for slight repose, and to increase the strength
of their party by the enrolment of some Indian guides, and
more especially with the good companionship of the stout old
Kit himself They had not, thus far, entered upon the more
toilsome and hazardous part of their journey ; and yet the
eyes, even of the veterans of the expedition, brightened, as they
descried the curling smoke of the hunter's cabin, and as the
delight of human intercourse beyond the range of their own
circle came again within their reach.

" ' "Well, say no more on that point, my boys ; I give in.
It's rather hard to leave the old woman and the youngsters,
low as they are, just now, with this cussed fever, but since
you say the thing is important — and, to tell the truth, I've
been a good deal of that way of thinking for some time past
— Fm at your service. But it's no child's errand you are going
on. Them mountain peaks can't be got over in kid slippers
any time, and just now a hard winter is coming on us: the
ground is already covered wdth snow, and the rivers and creeks
are big enough to show pretty strong fight.'

" ' We do not expect a pleasure trip, good Christopher, and
whatever we might do alone, certainly in your company we
shall not turn cowards.'

" ' Well said, my lads. These are no times for dainty gen-
tlemen, and I'm glad to see you so ready and hearty to serve
your country. And, as I was saying just now, you are none

THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE UAN OF DUTY. 71

too soon. These cussed Frenchmen will steal a march on us

if we don't keep a bright eje, and a strong hand too, on 'em.

I havn't been at the settlement lately, but I've hcer'd from

some of my red-skins, whom I can trust-and you can't trust

many on 'em-they're mighty slippery ; that that shrewd old

villam, St. Pierre-though I must say for him he's dreadful

civH spoken— is making a powerful wigwam of that old fort,

Le Boeuf ; his people is winding themselves down from Canada

and up from Louisiana; and before we know it, they'll join

hands from north to south, and dance a jig around his majesty's

colonies to a tune it will be terrible onpleasant to hear.'

That is the opinion of the Governor and his Council,'
said our minister, ' and, since we are by ourselves, I will tell
you that my errand is to check this progress of the French;
first, by politely telling your civil friend St. Pierre that his
room is more desirable than his company, and next, should he
not accept my invitation to return home, to learn the best way
of making him do so. To accomplish this, I need your assist-
ance, not only to reach the Fort at the earliest moment, but to
inform myself of the strength of the enemy in every way, and,
above all, to secure the good-will of the Indians.'

'"We'll soon get to the old dog's kennel, and see what
bones he's got to live on; but as to the red-skins, as I told
you, they can't be trusted ; though of the two, I rather think
they like our people the best ; still they're not such fools that
they can't see that between both sides they may lose every-
thing themselves. An old warrior asked me once, if the
French were to hold all the lands west of the Allcghanies,
and the English all to the eastward, what then would °be left
for him?'

" ' A difficult question to answer, certainly,' said our trav-
eller, laughing, 'but we must secure their friendship in the
best way we can. Where is Tanacharison now?'

72 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

» ' We shall probably find him near Logstown, which will
be the best place to assemble the chiefs. But we must be care-
ful : St. Pierre will hear of us long before he sees us. His spies
are about thick as copper-heads, and about as troublesome to

meet, too.'

" ' We'll be a match for them,' said our traveller, cheerily,
'and now, good Christopher, you, not less than the rest of us,
must lay in some supply of sleep before morning.'

" After thus dismissing his council of travel, our young
hero, wakeful in his anxiety and earnestness, stole out of the
cabin, and for a long while paced thoughtfully up and down
the half-cleared space in front. In the midst of his medita-
tions his quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy step, and,
turning abruptly, he descried the figure of an approaching

Indian.

'"What does my brother want?' he quietly asked, not,
however, without grasping his sword in a not very brotherly

manner.

"^Messiker is a friend to the white chief,' said the red-man;
'he comes from the great wigwam.'

" ' And what news does my brother bring ?'

'"He comes to tell the brave that his white rose is fading.'

" ' Ah ! what new trial is this !' said the traveller, in a fal-
tering voice, his thoughts flying back to the weeping girl he
had left on the banks of the Eappahannoc. But he seemed
to grow reassured, when, after closely questioning the messen-
ger, he was led to doubt the truth of his alarming reports.

" ' Perhaps,' ran his thought, ' the fellow is but an emissary
of St. Pierre, seeking to defeat or to delay my mission. My
poor Martha! Would that I could return to her! But no,
that may not be; duty calls me, and I must, at all sacrifice,
obey, trusting to heaven to protect her and me ;' and, recover-
ing his habitual grave composure, the Man of Duty, conquering

THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 73

this new temptation, dismissed the pretended envoy, and sought
new strength in the sure panacea of sleep.

"When our hero mentioned the visit of Messiker to his
trusty companion, Gist, as the party pursued their rude way
through the forest on the following day, old Christopher saw
nothing to fear in his story beyond the intimation which he
thought it gave that, even here, their movements were watched
by their vigilant foes.

" I need not pause to describe our adventurer's weary days
of painful travel, his privations and sufferings in the wild
winter forests, and his continual exposure to the cruelty and
treachery of the savage red-men, since all these things are
matters of written history; no less, the successful assembling
of the Indian chieftains, and the conferences which secured
their promised friendship.

"Suffice it to say, that, emboldened and sustained by his
convictions of duty, our hero gallantly braved and conquered
every obstacle and danger until his journey was accomplished,
and he found himself the honoured guest of the redoubtable
Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre, knight of the Order of St.
Louis, and commandant of his French Majesty's forces on the
Ohio.

"The kind hospit.ality and the refined social pleasures of
Fort Le Boeuf, were as grateful to our travellers as they were
unexpected in this remote and wild region. Monsieur de St.
Pierre and his family had brought with them into the wilder-
ness all the graces of their native land— graces attractive enough
in their ordinary influence, but dangerously seductive when ex-
erted to aid the accomplishment of a much-desired end.

" But all the pleasures of the commandant's household, his
own solicitous regard, and the flattering persuasions of the
ladies, were powerless to detain our ambassador an instant from
the path which his sense of duty marked out. His mission

74 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

acHevcd, lie turned a deaf ear to all solicitations to protract
his stay, and to all the representations of the increased dan-
gers of a return through the forests. That these representa-
tions were not unfounded in truth, he was persuaded by the
unsatisfactory result of liis mission, and the evident desire of
the commandant to delay and obstruct his return. This con-
viction made him more eager to execute his task.

"Bidding adieu to his host, in all apparent kindness and
confidence, he sallied forth again under his banner of duty to
brave the peril of the woods and the snares of hidden foes.
From both, as from a thousand dangers in after hfe, he was
so marvellously shielded, that the superstitious foresters learned
to look upon him as under the special protection and love of
the Great Spirit.

"It was on this returning voyage that the famous passage
of the Alleghany, depicted in our sketch, was achieved. To
. facilitate their progress, the party had separated, some taking
charge of the horses and baggage, and our hero, with his
staunch guide. Kit, com^ageously venturing into the forest alone.
. Coming to the waters of the Alleghany at night, their expec-
tation of crossing readily on the ice was sadly disappointed on
finding the river frozen but a few feet beyond the shores. In
the emergency, they set about constructing a raft, on which
frail craft they trusted themselves and their fortunes, with the
resolution of all the Caesars, to the angry current. But the
current, like everything else, was resolved to thwart their pur-
pose, and, in the efibrt to stem its strength, they were plunged
into the rapid floods. With desperate struggles, they at length
reached a rocky island in the middle of the stream, where, in
cold and darkness, they patiently awaited the dawn, when they
were happily enabled to reach the opposite bank, on the ice
which the severe frost of the night had formed.

"In the midst of such trials and perils, our hero accom-

THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 75

plislied his arduous mission across the Alleghanies, and gave
the first proof to the world of that unconquerable strength and
integrity of character, that self-sacrificing love of right and res-
pect for duty, which afterwards, in more lofty displays, so often
and so greatly served the happiness and glory of his country,
and which has embalmed his name as a blessing in the ever-
lasting memory of mankind.

"In conclusion," resumed Mr. Deepredde, "I will, instead
of stealing your time with the idle story of our hero's happy
return to Williamsburg, and the honours showered upon him

by the government and the people "

"To say nothing," interrupted Mr. Flakewhite, "about the
loving greeting from certain tearful eyes, which were promis-
ing enough at the beginning of your story, but have been too

much overlooked since "

"All that," continued the chairman, "can be more easily
imagined than described— at least by my prosaic tongue— so, as
I was saying, when the 'tearful eyes' put me out, I will simply
add a word of historic moral, in telling you that this memora-
ble expedition, which I have described to you in such light
style, united the colonies in that friendly union which soon
successfully resisted the border encroachments of the French
power, and years afterwards grew into the strength which re-
leased them from the oppressive weight of foreign rule. Ban-
croft—hand me that volume of Bancroft, my dear Asphaltum
—speaking of the border war which immediately followed the
Alleghany expedition, tells us that the first gun then fired at
the command of Washington kindled the world into a flame.
' It was,' he writes, ' the signal for the first great war of Revolu-
tion. There in the Western forest began the battle which was
to banish from the soil and neighbourhood of our Eepublic the
institutions of the middle age, and to inflict on them fatal
wounds throughout the continent of Europe. In repelling

76 THE B03fA^'CE OF AMERICAN LA>"DSCAPE,

France firom the basin of the Ohio, Washington bioke the
repose of mankind, and waked a struggle which could admit
of a truce only when the ancient bulwarks of Catholic legiti-
macT were thrown down.' That's all, gentlemen," added the
ciairman, closing his book and his lips at the same time.

"Deepredde might have made his story more interesting,"
said Mr. Flakewhite, "and at the same time might have added
a higher light to the picture of his hero's stoical virtue in with-
drawing so doggedly from the social pleasures of Monsieur de
Sl Pierre's fanuly, if he had told us something of the bewitch-
ing- smiles of the old commandant's daushter, the beautiful
Gabrielle.*'

" Grabrielle de St. Pierre," said the astounded chairman.
" Upon mv word, I did not know that the commandant had a
daughter. I do not recollect ever to have seen her name in
Bancroft, or Hildreth. or "

"Perhaps not; but you may read it, by and by, in 'Flake-
white,' for I am going to put on record the true and touching
history of the belle of Le Boeuf —

(Sabrifllc k St. %\txxL

" TTe will begin, gentlemen, by drinking to the memory
of the fair Gabrielle. If she had lived at the present day,
when books occupy so much of the time of her sex, she might
have been called a strong-minded woman — ^living when she did,
she was simply a clear-headed, brave-hearted girl, intensely
despising the frivolous life to which the habits and conventions
of French society condemned her, and fearlessly asserting and

GABEIELLE DE ST. PIERBK.

I {

maintaining her right to tHnk and act as she herself best
pleased.

'• Thus it is not to be wondered at that when her indulgent
papa was ordered to breathe the pure and free airs of the
Western forest, her filial affection and her love of libertr
made her the determined partner of his exile— not to men-
tion the strong desire to get away from the annoying devotions
of a certain enamoored consin, whom she abominated the more
intensely because her friends were determined to force him
upon her. However much she might have loved him if left
to herself— for he was a very good sort of feUow— she now
perfectly detested the very sight of him.

" This change of scene and circumstance happened at the best
possible moment for a temperament like Mademoiselle GabrieUe's:
at a moment when she was best prepared to profit by all its
good influences, and to escape its dangers; not before she had
seen and learned enough of the graces and refinements of pol-
ished life, to keep her above the rude habits and manners of
the uncultured foresters, and just in time to turn the strong
imaginative and romantic tendency of her nature from an idle
and corroding sentimentalism, into a deep and pure current
of healthy poetic feeling. Here, in the solemn ministrations of
God's first temples— the grand primeval forests— and amidst the
dangers and privations with which she had to contend, she
grew up a thoughtful and truthful spirit, with earnest and
daring purpose ; while a longer breathing of the poisoned and
demoralizing atmosphere of the court of Louis, might have de-
graded her into a reckless and unscrupulous woman of fashion
and intrigue.

'• The character of our heroine was thus happily developing
at the moment our story opens,

"The gathering shades of night were deepening the spirit
of quiet which always surrounded the little fortress of Le Bceuf

78 THE ROiTANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

on tlie wild banks of the far-off Ohio, as the eyes of a small
party of way-worn and weary wanderers grew bright with hope
at the first glimpse of its hospitable walls.

" ' There,' said an old veteran, who appeared to be the guide
of the party, ' is the lion's den. You must have a care of his
paws, my lads.'

" ' Never fear, good Christopher,' replied the leader of the
group, a tall, handsome youth, who seemed but little given
himself to fear, ' the watchful Providence which has brought
us thus far through, all the dangers of the wilderness will
protect us to the end.'

" The faith of the speaker proved, even as the words fell
from his lips, to be well grounded. An arrow, aimed at him
by a stealthy hand, not before seen in the dusky recesses of
the woods, was suddenly and opportunely struck aside, and the
momentary apparition of a lurking foe was followed by the
strange appearance of a young and beautiful girl. So unex-
pectedly did she come, and so quickly disappear, pausing only
to bestow a reproving look and word upon the treacherous
savage, that our travellers scarcely knew whether to consider
her a real visitant, or a pleasing deceit of their fancies.

" ' Another lucky escape, my dear George,' said young Fair-
fax. ' Truly, heaven seems to love you, sending down its angels
in propria personge for your protection. Who can the dear
fajry be ?'

" ' Some member of the Governor's household, I suppose,'
said the leader, 'whom he has suffered to grow wild in this
untamed land.'

" ' She has, at least, learned to be generous and daring,'
continued Fairfax. 'You owe her your life, and if you were
not already pledged to the fair Ma '

" ' Nonsense, Harry ! I thank the girl heartily, but I have
graver thoughts to occupy my mind than the silly whispers of

GABEIELLE DE.ST. PIERRE. 79

every passing romance. I leave it to you, better fitted for sucli
things, to seek amusement and pleasure in following up the
adventure.'

" ' Thank you. If the girl has wit and wisdom equal to
her bravery and beauty, I shall not, I promise you, be in any
great haste to recross the rugged Alleghanies. While you are
discussing the subject of your belligerent mission with the com-
mandant of Le BcBuf yonder, and persuading him that it will
be better for his political health to pull up stakes and remove
with his people far away from the Ohio, and the vicinage of
our good Governor Din^v-iddie, I may find it agreeable to make
war upon the heart of this mountain sprite.'

Suppose, Harry,' answered his friend, laughing, ' suppose
you carry her back with us, as a hostage for the fakh of these
slippery Frenchmen!'

"With such cheerful chat and jest, the party at length
parsed the sentinels and entered the precincts of the lonely
fort, where they were cordially greeted by the expectant host,
Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre.

" ' I am happy, gentlemen,' said the courteous Frenchman,
'to congratulate you upon the safe termination of your fati-
guing and hazardous journey, and to welcome you to my
humble quarters, which I trust will long be cheered by the
pleasures of your society. I hope you bring me good news
from Virginia, Mr. Washington, and pleas'ant messages from
your excellent Governor, my old friend, Dinwiddle; your
young companion '

'"Mr. Fairfax,' interrupted our ambassador, as he introduced
his colleague.

" ' Must forget the privations of the forest as much as pos-
sible in such poor pleasures as he may be able to find in
our rough home. Ah! my old friend Gist, too. I am glad to
shake your hardy honest hand once more ! But pardon me, I

80 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

must present you to the ladies,' lie continued, summoning an
attendant.

" ' Tell Madame that our expected guests have arrived, and
send Mademoiselle Gabrielle to me, if she has returned to the
Fort. My wild daughter, gentlemen, will give you a cordial
welcome, for she sees but too little society suited to her station
and education. It is surprising that you should not already
have made her acquaintance. Few things happen here of which
she is not the first informed, and such an unusual event as
your approach '

" ' Has not, I dare say, escaped her vigilant notice,' said
"Washington, as he interrupted the commandant with an account
of the good service done him by the mysterious fairy of the
forest.

" ' Ha, ha ! my mad Gabrielle, unquestionably ! You will
find her a lawless creature, gentlemen, but still rich in all the
softest traits of woman's nature — buried somewhat, perhaps, but
not lost under the rough habits of her wild life. It is singular
what an influence the united strength and delicatesse of her
character have given her over our jealous and intractable Indian
neighbours. She is a greater protection to our settlement here
than all my garrison, and I could give you no passport through
the savage tribes, for leagues around, half so authoritative .as
her simple namo. But here she comes.'

" As Gabrielle entered, with an ease and grace not surpassed
by what our travellers had already learned of her courage, they
hastened to express their thanks for her late good offices, which
her hasty retreat had prevented their making at the time.

" ' Indeed, gentlemen,' answered the mischievous girl, ' you
owe me no thanks; but you must be more heedful of your
path, or your brave Governor in Williamsbm-g may lose some
ornaments to his ball-room.'

'"Nay, Mademoiselle,' said Fairfax, half amused, half angry,

GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 81

' we are perhaps not as daring and dauntless foresters as your
fair ladyship, but we have been reared, believe me, to better
ends than simply to figure in a minuet.'

" ' You are happy,' continued the laughing Gabrielle, ' in
living in a land and among scenes which develop a stronger
and truer manhood than we often find in the worn-out life of
our old civilization ; though my honoured father does not agree
with me on this point.'

" ' But do you not, Mademoiselle, sometimes grow weary
of your isolated life here, and sigh for the gay pleasures of
your native Paris, which jout youth and wit and beauty so
admirably fit you to enjoy ?'

" ' Nay, nay, my youth and beauty are much better ex-
pended here, where they are ever preserved and renewed by
healthful occupation and innocent thought. The hills and val-
leys and waters repay my wit with much more instructive and
agreeable talk than the silly tattle of the drawing-room. The
song of the birds is pleasanter to me than the false flatteries
of heartless admirers, and the fragrance of the j^ure mountain
air more grateful than the perfume of lovers' sighs. Besides,
I have still sufficient companionship in the love of my parents
and friends; and books and papers teach me all the best thought
of the world, and show me its most brilliant spectacles, while
I am relieved from the fatigue of walking in the painful pro-
cession.'

" More than once, and in various ways, did Gabrielle, as
the days passed on, give expression to this haughty spirit of
contempt for the wonted pleasures and passions of her sex ;
and yet, despite her exalted philosophy, she lingered, with each
successive hour, longer and longer in the society of her new
friends, seldom, indeed, following her old life in the woods,
except when they accompanied her.

" Harrj^ Fairfax seemed to have kept his threat to make
6

82 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

war upon the redoubtable heart of the mountain maid ; for while
his companion was indefatigably prosecuting the ends of his
mission, he was following the deer with her over hill and dale,
or strolling by her side along the quiet margin of the great
river. Whatever may have been the themes of their discourse
at such moments, Gabrielle was as gay and intractable as ever
in the hearing and presence of others.

" So precisely was her manner what it had always been,
that none could suspect her heart and fancy to be less free
than before. Harry himself, indeed, seemed uncertain whether
any change had come over the spirit of her dream; and this
uncertainty did not, from some cause or other, increase the
gaiety of his humour.

" On the contrary, it gave him a most perceptible uneasi-
ness of feeling, which grew every moment as the time for the
departure of the expedition drew nigh. The truth is, he had
given half his heart to the fair mountaineer at their first inter-
view, and the ingenuous frankness of her manner, which made
no secret of her delight in his companionship, had soon stolen

the rest.

"But whether she had given him anything more than
friendly and sisterly regard in return, was a question he hesi-
tated to ask even himself. There was always so much of
mad badinage, mischievous satire, laughing irony, and inex-
plicable contrariety in her words, that he found it utterly im-
possible to read the real nature of her feelings. Whenever his
own speech became too plain an index of his heart, she seemed
innocently unconscious of its drift, or, with wonderful ingenuity,
misinterpreted it, or wickedly turned the talk into some oppo-
site and most outrageously irrelevant current. At such, to poor
Harry Fairfax, solemn moments, she would, too, often affect
a sighing remembrance of the devoted cousin, whose breaking
heart she had so rashly left in Paris, launching out with ex-

GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 83

travagant eulogiums of his graces and gifts, which were always
precisely the very graces and gifts which of all others she
admired in a man ; regretting her cruel conduct towards him,
and wishing that opportunity were still left her to repair her
errors ; half resolved to leave the woods and return to old
scenes and loves in France, and then gaily anticipating her
afflicted cousin's threatened visit to America, and, worst of all,
kindly proposing to read to Harry some of her old admirer's
exquisite letters.

" All this was deplorably heart-rending to our tortured
traveller, but his last hour approached, and, nerving himself
to the momentous trial, he determined to bring affairs to a
crisis and solve all his crushing doubts.

" Unhappily, the solution left him not only a wiser, but a
sadder man, as the closing words of a long and earnest dia-
logue, in the moonlight which fell upon the ramparts of the
lonely fort, on the eve of their separation, may show.

" This dialogue, which on the part of the lady had at first
been most wickedly and vexingly bantering, grew, at length,
grave and serious when the final moment of adieu arrived.

" ' Have I then so l)itterly deceived myself, and must our
parting be forever?' said Fairfax, despairingly.

" ' That must be as heaven wills. I am not insensible to the
high compliment you bestow upon me; I do not despise your
love ; but, even did I return it, I should still mistrust my own
heart. We have been thrown together under such peculiar cir-
cumstances— circumstances so admirably suited to bring out all
the sentiment and romance of our nature — that it would be rash
to trust our present feelings. Did I love you now, I might
forget you in other scenes ; as you, doubtless, will think no
more of the rude mountain girl when you fall again under the
influence of brighter eyes.'

" ' I can never forget you, Gabrielle ; so entirely does the

84 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

whole current of my being set towards you, that no power can
turn it aside !'

" ' Well, well, go now, and if we should meet again — ^years
hence — and you should still remember me, return me tliis
token,' said Gabrielle, taking from her finger a ring rudely
sculptured by some untaught genius. It was given to me by
a young chief, whose life I saved, and it will be useful to you
in your wanderings among the red-men of this region, who all
know and obey Gabrielle de St. Pierre.'

" ' And this,' said Fairfax, as he kissed the ring and offered
her another in return. 'This gift from my mother — wear it,
as a token of ' *

" ' Of your pleasant visit,' added Gabrielle in her old gay
manner, as others came at that instant within hearing.

"When our travellers were again in their own home,
the altered manner of Harry Fairfax excited no little curi-
osity among his young companions to learn more minute
particulars of the expedition to Le Boeuf than were given in
the official reports. More especially were they interested in the
mysterious history of the ugly looking ring wliich he never
ceased to wear and to contemplate with most devoted and rapt

vision.

" Washington, when appealed to on the subject, laughingly
ascribed the change of his friend's humour to ill health — the
results of a violent cold caught in the adventurous passage of
the mighty floods of the Alleghany; and the ring, he gravely
hinted, concerned certain secret results of their diplomacy which
the interests of the colony imperiously required should not for
the present be divulged. Even the gentle Martha— so touch-
ingly presented to us in Mr. Deepredde's romantic drama of

GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 85

the ' Man of Duty ' — failed to win from the wily diplomat any
more explicit confidence.

"Altogether, there was no surprise whatever felt at the
extraordinary interest which Fairfax took in the military ex-
peditions which the late mission set on foot — expeditions to
effect by force of arms that expulsion of the encroaching French
from the banks of the Ohio which Washington had failed to
accomplish by negotiation.

" At length, in one of these sorties — which particular one,
and its exact history, our worthy chairman will tell you — our
hero held a command, to which he did high honour by his
bravery and forbearance through the hot struggles of a change-
ful day.

"Night was coming on apace, and the fortunes of the fight
were against the colonists; yet Harry Fairfax still battled man-
fully at the head of his gallant troops,

" It might have been the excitement of the hour and the
passion of the soldier, or the depth of his patriotism, which
nerved his arm and strung his heart ; yet the close observer
— had there been such an one — would perhaps have suspected
some other impulse to move him, on seeing his daring always
exalted whenever his eye rested upon a young officer in the
opposite ranks, whose sole business, as he kept aloof from the
general conflict, seemed, singularly enough, to be, not to conquer,
but to protect, his foe ; for more than once had he, by the
exertion of some secret power, stayed the arm and weapon
raised against him. Possibly he was mortified at this gratuitous
service on the part of the stranger

" By and by the growing darkness put a stop to the con-
test, and hid his mysterious protector from our hero's sight.
As he was about to retire from the bloody field he turned
back for an instant at the sound of a thrilling cry for quarter,
and angrily stayed the brutal passions of his men who were

86 THE ROMAJ^CE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

about to finish the unhappy captive. His surprise was great
•when, bending over the prostrate soldier, he recognized the
person of his unknown protector. But yet greater was his
astonishment, and new and deep his emotions, when a nearer
glance showed him the ring of love with which he had parted
from Gabrielle de St. Pierre.

'"Alasl my fancy told me so!' he said abstractedly. 'So
like herself! Yes, it must be he! that — that — too happy cousin!
And he has come at last, and, as I feared, stolen away the
love of Gabrielle! What right has he to be generous to me?
He's my foe — my mortal, deadly foe — let him die !' continued
the wretched lover, as he madly grasped his sword.

" ' No, no ! He shall live ! I will not be such a wretch !
He shall live, for her sake;' and he ordered the wounded man
to be carefully borne to his tent. No particular care, however,
was needed, since scarcely were they arrived at Fairfax's quar-
ters before the youth recovered his scattered senses, and proved
to be unhurt, beyond the swoon which had followed a slight
contusion received in falling from his horse.

"When fully aware of the position of things around him,
the captive seemed no longer interested in our hero. His
thoughts took another direction, and other objects.

" ' My father — my father ! let me seek him !' he cried.

" ' Of whom do you speak ?' asked Fairfax. ,

" ' Of my poor father. Monsieur de St. Pierre.'

" ' Monsieur de St. Pierre !' echoed our hero. ' St. Pierre —
your father?'

" ' Yes — no, not my father — my — let me go ! Ah ! heaven
grant that his life be safe !'

" ' Yes, yes,' muttered Fairfax, ' I comprehend it all now :
his father — the father of Gabrielle !'

" Without another word, Harry and his prisoner returned
to the now deserted field, and, by the faint light of the newly-

GABRIELLE DE ST, PIERRE. 87

risen moon, sought in silence for the body of the old com-
mandant. Their pious labour was not long unrewarded. They
found the object of their search, still living, but too plainly,
alas ! mortally wounded.

" ' O my father !' sobbed the prisoner, as he cast his arms
wildly about the neck of the old soldier.

" ' Thank God,' gasped the dying man, ' that you are safe.
Gabrielle — my child !'

" ' Gabrielle !' exclaimed the bewildered Fairfax. ' Are you
indeed Gabrielle ?' And even in the midst of this solemn scene,
he was not too unselfish to look with more pleasure than before
upon his mother's ring on the finger of his captive.

"'Who, who is with you, my child? My sight is dim, and
I cannot see him ; but his voice — it is familiar to me I Who
is he?'

'"It is he, father !'

"'He?'

" ' Yes, he — Harry — Harry Fairfax, father !'

" ' Ha ! Fairfax ! Does he love my poor daughter ?'

" Harry took the hand of Gabrielle, and they knelt together
at the old man's feet.

" ' Heaven bless you, my children ! I have forgiven you,
Harry, for wishing to take away my home, but never for rob-
bing me of my daughter's heart and happiness. You took both
with you when you left Le Boeuf. It has been but a sad
place ever since. She has always loved you, and to-day has
risked her life, in the maddest way, and despite my commands,
to protect you.'

" ' And you, too, father.'

" ' Yes, yes ! You have always been, in all your wilfulness
and folly, a dutiful and loving daughter, and you will be — a
good — and truthful — wife !'

88 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" When the old soldier slept quietly in bis grave, Fairfax
conducted his gentle prisoner to his own home, where he placed
her under the affectionate surveillance of the tender Martha,
beloved, as Mr. Deepredde has intimated to us, by his dear
friend and travelling companion, "Washington. In process of
time he accompanied her on a visit to her childhood's home,
where they passed a happy month under the roof of that
mischief-making cousin several times referred to in my narra-
tive, and at this period a joyous father of an interesting family.
The gay pleasures of the French capital did not, however,
obliterate the loving remembrance of their forest-home in the
New World, to which they soon returned, and where they lived
in peace and prosperity, as all virtuous heroes and heroines
of romance ought to do.

"When the Revolution broke out, years afterwards, Gabri-
elle, then a grave matron, offered her sons as a willing sacrifice
upon the altars of that Freedom she never ceased to lov^e."

"Have you got entirely through, now?" asked Mr. Yer-
meille, as Flakewhite relighted his cigar.

"Of course I have. Is not my heroine happily married
and settled with a whole nursery of babies at her heels ! What
more can you want?"

"Nothing, only I have a mind, now that Blueblack has
given us a peep at the romance of the colonial life of Virginia,
and you a very charming imagining of her wars with the
French and Indians — I have a mind, I say, to treat the com-
pany to a little glimpse of a later period, by telling them
something of the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, as one of
the ' Mothers of the Revolution.' "

So deeply had our guests grown interested in the character
and fortunes of the fair lady of Le Boeuf, that a general accla-

im

GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 89

mation of assent followed this proposition ; wlien Mr, Deepredde
reminded them that the hour had grown ^o late, that the story
could not be pursued longer at that time.

It can be resumed, we added, at our next meeting. To bo
sure, our field of study will then be transferred to a point yet
further southward; but, as Virginia is a kindred theme, we may
tarry there long enough to pay our brief respects to Mademoi-
selle Gabrielle.

Satisfied with this compromise of the matter, the company
dispersed.

i

i

CHAPTER Y.

" AsPHALTUiT, my dear boy, you must excuse my fear that
your undue love of tlie past and the venerable warps your
impressions and estimate of tlie new and the present. Your
sight is dimmed by the accumulated fogs of the dark old
centuries into which you are everlastingly peering. I cannot
but think that you look falsely, when you look despondingly,
upon the condition and prospects of American art."

"If I see around me," answered Mr. Asphaltum, "nothing
but hopeless chaos after contemplating the glories of past tri-
umphs, it is only as one's sight may be obscured when turning
from the dazzling light of the sun ; but have we not already
said enough on this point, considering that it is not quite ger-
main to the matter in hand?"

" There you are again strangely in error. What can be
more relevant to our theme — the history, the poetry, the man-
ners, and the scenery of our country — than the prospects of
that art which, of all others, must record, illustrate, and per-
petuate them? Still, important as is its relation to the purpose
of these reunions, yet, I grant you, it is not the precise subject
itself, and I will but remind you before we pass on to the usual

92 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

gossip of travel and fancy, that common as it is to hear the
most hopeless lamentations upon the lack of popular taste and
popular encouragement of Art, very brief reflection will show
us that if due, nay, if an extraordinary degree of appreciation
of the Beautiful has not been already developed— though per-
chance unperceived at present in the overwhelming brilliancy
of our country's progress in other ways — still we may be sure
that the germ lies in the heart and in the head of the people,
and will shoot up ere long with a rapidity and strength the very
contrast of its past inertness. We have not to look to the
olden patronage of the religious sentiment, or to the pomp of
arbitrary rule and of plethoric wealth, but we trust to a surer
and nobler support promised us in the morale of our people
and in the nature of our social and political institutions : a
blessed economy which scatters knowledge over the land as
the tempests spread the dust, inducing a universal intelligence
and taste which will give us a whole nation of sincere and lov-
ing patrons, in lieu of the often cold and selfish support of the
few crowned heads, the limited aristocracy, the collectors, and
the public institutions, which alone nurse the arts in other
lands. Our governments, perhaps blameably neglectful of Art,
so far as direct support goes, are yet unconsciously doing it the
best service in the encouragement of popular education. This
is the only soil in which it can thrive and maintain its proper
dignity. The improving popular taste will elevate Art, and, in
reciprocation, will be by Art refined and exalted. AVith these
two powers, already so strong, and each continually adding to
the other, what of distinction and glory in Art achievement and
in Art worship, does not the future promise us! We, the art-
ists of America must work as every thing here works — for the
people — and, believe me, the intelligence and taste of the peo-
ple will reward us. Of what avail had been the patronage of
Pericles without the Athenians' innate and cultivated perception

THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 93

of the Beautiful ? How widely different the result under dif-
ferent influences: how great the contrast between Athens and
Sparta: the latter placed under the same sky as the former,
having the same language and religion, the same mythic tradi-
tions, but, wanting her intellectual culture, utterly indifferent
and neglectful of Art."

As Mr. Deepredde— for it is the worthy chairman, most
martyred reader, who has been preaching so long— paused for
breath and brandy— and water, we mean— we called the at-
tention of our guests to some of tlie trophies of our own
professional rambles— mementoes of the beautiful Falls of the
Tallulah in Georgia.

"Before we start, however," said Mr. MegHp, "as our host
desires, on a pilgrimage to the old Pine State, we must, accord-
ing to agreement at our last meeting, hear the continuation of
the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, in Mr. Yermeille's prom-
ised story of

C|e it0t|eo of t(je f ebahitiait,

" The skies were dark above them," said Mr. Vermeille, at
once beginning his narrative ; " storms were gathering in every
direction, and the gallant hearts of the people of Virginia, like
those of their brethren all over the land, were dying within
them.

"It was that dark hour which precedes the dawn— the
agony going before relief; but the gloom and the pain only
were seen and felt, not the hope of light and life.

"In a small shed, the miserable wreck of a once elegant
mansion, which had been ruthlessly burned by the cruel min-
ions of King George, sat a woman of distinction evidently,

94 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

from her mien and air, despite the marks of sorrow on her
face, and of poverty around her. By her side was a young
girl whose lovely features suggested the charms which must
once have belonged to the elder lady, so many traces of a
similar beauty did her countenance yet bear.

"'Ah, Gabrielle !' said the matron, as her young companion
looked up, after a long and thoughtful reverie; 'you are, per-
haps, all that is now left to me of my many beloved treasures.
Do not look so sad, my daughter : misfortunes, it is true, over-
whelm us now, but, by and by, God will send the sunshine
again. I have been afflicted before, without hope in the world,
and yet the bright days have come back. Bless you, my
child ! I love to see you smile upon me thus. It recalls so
vividly all the active scenes of my own wild, thoughtless girl-
hood, when I hunted the deer among the Indians in the forests
of the Ohio : when I first met your father — don't look sorrowful
again, Gabrielle, he died in a worthy cause — and learned that
there were other and dearer objects and hopes in life, than the
indulgence of my oWn thoughtless pleasures,'

" ' You have often promised me, mother, to tell me of those
days : do so now. The story will cheer you, and help to beguile
these dreadful moments of uncertainty and fear.'

" ' Not now, Gabrielle. Let us rather speak of this young
Derwent, who seeks your hand and offers you fortune. He is
not quite indifferent to you?'

" ' Once, mother, he was not. But he has betrayed his
country, and I love him no longer I And yet, mother, if this
poverty is so painful to you '

" ' God forbid, my child !'

" ' Or, if it may serve the happiness of my poor brothers '

*' ' No more, my own true Gabrielle ! You speak bravely,
as I knew you would. Let us be poor and despised, if heaven
sends the trial, while our honour and conscience remain unsul-

THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 95

lied. But hark ! is not that the tramp of horses ? Surely
they will not drive us from this poor shelter ; they cannot-
take from me -my child 1' and, as the ominous sound of the
approach of armed men grew louder, mother and daughter clun-
more closely to each other. "^

"As they made no answer to the loud knocking which
almost immediately followed, some heavy blows were angrily
bestowed upon the frail door, which soon shook it fron^ its
hinges.

Pardon this seeming lack of ceremony, madam,' said the
leader of the intruders, 'but I am impatient to have the answer
of your fair daughter. She will, I presume, be but too glad
to exchange this vile hovel for a lordly mansion ; and then
like a dutiful child she loves her mother and brothers, I am
told !'

" 'At least she loves not you, bold, bad man ! Begone, sir!

how dare you thus insult me ? Begone, I say !'

'"Beware, proud lady, that you do not anger me too much!'
" ' I do not fear you, sir ! I fear only God, in whom I

trust for protection !'

Then let Him protect you, for by Himself I swear the
girl shall be mine!' and, as he spoke, he rudely seized the
arm of the defenceless maid.

" Starting to her feet, as if poisoned by his touch, she darted
upon him a look of such haughty indignation, such sublime
defiance, that even his boundless impudence was for a moment
cowed and appalled.

" ' Stand back, traitor ! I, Gabrielle Fairfax, love a craven
like you? I love squalid penury, pain, death— a thousand
deaths; but you— you I loathe!'

" ' Ha, ha !' laughed the villain in his bitter mortification,
and regaining his wonted audacity. ' That is all very fine, fair
lady, but it won't do for me. Here, my men! help nie to

96 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE

take care of this poor girl, who does not know when she is
well off!'

" Scorning the prayers of the mother, and deriding the
anger of the daughter, they were forcibly dragging away their
victim, when a stranger, bursting into the room, dealt the cow-
ardly leader a blow which sent him staggering against the wall.

" ' Brother, brother !' cried Gabrielle joyfully, as she flew to
the arms of her rescuer.

" ' God be praised that you are safe, my son !' said the
widow. ' But you have escaped one danger only to confront
a greater. You come in vain, alas ! come only to draw upon
us all the remorseless vengeance of yonder daring wretch.'

" ' You speak sensibly at last, madam,' said Derwent, recov-
ering from the stunning effects of young Fairfax's unexpected
greeting. ' You shall, indeed, pay for this 1 Leave the girl,
now, my lads, and bring along that insolent cub : bring him

to the first tree !'

*******

u I There is no hope, my child I no hope but in God ! His
will be done! I cannot choose between you. Your brother
would never permit the sacrifice 1 You would both die broken-
hearted 1'

" ' No, mother, I shall be happy — ^happy in saving his life
— happy in your happiness !'

" ' It cannot be ! Think of it no more, Gabrielle I Never
again breathe his infamous name !'

" ' But my brother? — ^he must be saved, at any cost !'

*' ^ I will seek General "Washington !' cried the widow, as her
eyes brightened with new hope — ' your father's friend and com-
panion. For the sake of old loves and old scenes, he will
save us in our extremity ;' and, at the instant, she prepared a
message, which she soon after found an opportunity of despatch-
ing to the neighbouring quarters of the commander-in-chief.

THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 97

" Scarcely, however, was the note sent, when the sufferers
were again frightened by the reappearance of the hated mis-
creant, Derwent.

" ' The rebels flj !' said he in haste. ' They are losing
Yorktown, and with Yorktown they lose all. Your son there
is slain, and the other is my prisoner ! You would not be
childless, woman ? Give me the girl, and take back your boy !
Quick, quick, your answer ! Let her sign this contract !'

" ' Give me the paper,' said Gabrielle in a steady voice ; and
in a moment she had calmly signed away her freedom and her
life.

'' ' Now, then, to the church !' he cried triumphantly, half
dragging with him the passive girl as he moved away. ' There
is no use putting off until to-morrow what may be done to-day,
and you may not always be as wise as you are at this moment.
Come, come, don't look so much as if you Av^ere going to the
guillotine : this, remember, is your own free act !'

" As the group approached the neighbouring church they
were surprised at the unusual crowd gathered about the old
edifice, and still more so at the boisterous and happy humour
which prevailed among them. To the hearts of the widow
and her daughter the rejoicing brought new fears, while it
seemed to exhilarate their oppressor.

" ' The people are assembled to do honour to our bridal,
fair Gabrielle,' said he. ' Meet them, if you please, with a
smiling face !'

" But the feelings of all suddenly changed when, as they
drew near, the voice of the multitude resolved itself into glad
shouts of ' Long live "Washington ! long live the Union !'

"'What does this insolence mean?' said Derwent, half in
anger, half in apprehension. ' Surely the rebels dare not thus
openly '

'"Kebel and traitor vourself!' cried one voice after another,
7

98 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

as he entered among the crowd. ' Know you not that the vic-
tory is ours ? — that Cornwallis is taken, and the country is free ?'

" The joy of Gabrielle and her mother now became almost
oppressive in its intensity as they were joined by young Fairfax,
whom we left in the vengeful power of the recreant Derwent.

" ' You, too, come back to me, my son, safe and free ! Truly,
heaven answers my prayers !'

" ' Yes, mother, you may well rejoice ! We are all free
again, and forever ! My brother, too, is safe, and will soon be
with us. And yet, had that scoundrel there,' he added, as his
eyes rested upon the trembling Derwent, ' succeeded in his
traitorous schemes, our cause would have been lost ! But how
is it that you have come to share the joy of the people, since
you seem not until this moment to have heard the news?'

" Gabrielle, pointing from Derwent to the church, said with
a smile of hope, ' We were going there, brother, to save your
life !'

" ' Where we will still go, sweet Gabrielle ! I have your
pledge, and I shall not release you so easily,' added Derwent,
making new efforts to push his way through the people.

" ' Not so fast !' interrupted a new comer, who had a few
moments before joined the group. ' I have other bands for
you, sir, than the pleasant bands ^bf wedlock ! You are my
prisoner, Mr. Derwent !'

" At the sound of the familiar voice which here reached
her ears, the widow quickly turned and welcomed her eldest
son, whom she had mourned as lost in the late struggle.

"Handing his prisoner over to proper surveillance, Captain
Fairfax — for the lad had come back with this new honour —
returned with his now happy family to the glad walls of the
old shed ; which they soon exchanged for a more comfortable
abode, when their patrimony, of which Derwent's machinations
had deprived them, was restored."

c^

MARGARET HOUSE. 99

" All's well that ends well !" said Professor Scumble, approv-
ingly, as Mr. Vermeille finished his little tale and relighted
his cigar.

"But it is not ended," added Mr. Deepredde, "for I have
yet to continue the history, in a peep at the present period of
Virginia life — these weak, piping, planting times of peace and
plenty, as you might perhaps express it. I shall make no
apology for my sketch, since it will be as characteristic of the
region we are to visit to-night, and of all the old South, as of
Virginia."

" Good gracious ! is madam to come to life again ?" inquired
the Professor.

"Not a great deal; but if yon will all close your eyes,
clairvoyantly, I will transport you to a comfortable mansion in
the heart of rich fields — once the impenetrable forests of the
Old Dominion. There you will see Copley's picture of the
beautiful Gabrielle de St. Pierre, chief among the old family
portraits of

l-litrjant Pause.

"It is Christmas night, and though the winter is kindly, a
genial fire sparkles on the generous hearth, bright as the smiles
of pleasure in the eyes of the numerous party, young and old,
gathered around it.

"Everything within the hospitable mansion reiterates the
goodly promise of its old-fashioned comfortable exterior, speak-
ing with equal eloquence of young hope and placid age.

" A fine remnant of the old regime, is the venerable yet
jolly gentleman so contentedly sipping his egg-nog as he talks
to a fellow ancient, and watches the mazy movements of the
young folk, as they whirl round in the merry dance.

100 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" ' Yery different times, my old friend,' he says, ' to the
trying days of our grandmothers, there on the walls! What
■would Harry Fairfax and his blooming Gabrielle say, could
they now revisit the busy banks of the Ohio, and, stepping into
a rail-car, in a few hours dash through the fertile fields where
once grew the old forests of the Alleghanies? Would not
such a glimpse of the present happiness and glory of their
country, richly repay the blood and life they so freely lavished
in its defence?'

" Now the reverend seigneurs — turning from the past to the
present— have got upon other themes, and are earnestly dis-
cussing the crying need of a railway to the Pacific and the
influence of the United States upon the current of the dawning
war in Europe.

" Fine, manly looking fellows, those, leaning over the an-
tique sideboard, and so heartily discussing the pleasures of
the chase, as they review the adventures and successes of the
past happy day.

" ' What would our respected sires say,' asks one of the
joyous group, ' could they step from their dusty frames and
join us in such free and unmolested sport as we have had to-
day? Gabrielle, yonder, would regain her fabled youth and
beauty and fall in love again with the gallant Harry! Here's
to the memory of both, boys, not in exports of Champaigne,
but in sparkling Catawba from the sunny and peaceful -vdne-
yards of their own Ohio !'

" Promising lads, those, grouped yonder in the deep recesses
of the old oriel window, and glad on their temporary escape
from the college — not from far-off Cambridge or Oxford, but
from their own classic halls in Charlottesville.

" ' No such field now-a-days, boys,' says one of the most
aspiring of the number, ' for gallant deeds, as in the stirring-
times of our worthy ancestors there ! I should like to be a

ilAEGARET HOUSE. 101

brave soldier, like old grand-daddy Fairfax, and win the love
of a daring girl like Gabrielle !'

"■ ' L' replies a more thoughtful, yet less imaginative youth,
* am going to Congress to maintain and exalt the freedom and
fame they so nobly bequeathed to us!'

" "What are the matrons talking about so raysterioiisly, as
they sip their tea, and ply their knitting needles?

" ' I am afraid,' says an elderly dame, * that in the midst
of the pleasures and luxuries and indulgences which surround
them, our children will forget the virtues and high characters
of their fathers and grow degenerate and useless.'

" ' Not if we properly teach them the story of Gabrielle and
the sufferings with which she so heroically contributed to the
purchase of their happy lot, and the duty it imposes upon them
to respect and perpetuate her memory and fame,'

" Here, too, are the bright eyes of the maidens bent in pride
and pleasure upon the honest faces of their pictured pro-
genitors.

" ' Gabrielle in her dangerous forest life and the wild battle-
field,' says one, seeking a moment's rest, ' could not dance as
gaily and unconcernedly as we do now.'

" ' Or forget the troubles and trials with which her life
was beset,' adds another, marking the page of the dainty vol-
ume she closes, ' in the pleasures of the world of charming books
which teach us so pleasantly what she learned by harsh ex-
perience.'

" ' Or love with such confident hope of realizing her dreams
as we can,' whispers a youth in the ear of the fair student, as
he approaches to learn what on earth the girls are so busily
talking about.

" ' Every body,' says old Caesar, turning to a happy group
of fellow servants, * is looking at de portraits of old Massa
Fairfax and jMiss Gabrielle, and they seems to feel mighty

102 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

proud of 'em!' and tlie virtae and heroism of Coesar and Hs
ebony mates grow greatly, even in the reflected beauty of
the high and pure emotions which fill the souls of the good
people of Margaret House, as they gaze upon the voiceful fea-
tures of their ancestors, and recall the fragrant memory of their
noble lives."

"The chairman," said Mr. Yermeille, "has drawn a very
graceful moral from the checkered history of Mademoiselle
Gabrielle; and now, if the poor lady may be permitted to rest
quietly in her grave, perhaps we had better be off for Georgia,
and take a peep at our host's pictures of Toccoa and Tallulah.
He knows as much as any of us about that region, and I hope
he will favour us with a few remarks initiatory of the subject."
In reply to this demand we made a hasty reference to the
several characteristics of the scenery of the South ; jumping
as rapidly as possible, from the elfish beauties of the mystic
swamps, the wild intricacies of the dense cane-breaks and the
luxuriant rice-fields, onward to the higher lands of the golden
maize and the snowy cotton ; and, finally, bringing up amidst
the picturesque grandeur and beauty of the varied mountain
region. Our words were of the briefest — said with no end but
to awaken the memories of our guests, whose thoughts we were
more desirous of hearing than to record our own.

" My own preference," said Mr. Asphaltum, as we left the
subject on the hps of the company, " is for the dreary humour
of the sleeping lowlands; not so much for the contrast it offers
to the general character of our scenery, as for its own intrinsic
charms. There is to me a marvellous attraction in the beauty
of the broad savannas, seemingly interminable in the hazy at-
mosphere which wraps them in such peaceful and poetic repose ;
and which, with the luxuriant vegetation and the wealth of

SOUTHERN SCENERY. 103

forest flowers, soothe the feeling and fancy, but 3'et keep them
delightfully wakeful and active."

" My favourite haunts," said Mr. Blueblack, " are the dark
and poisonous lagunes which lead into the mysterious heart
of the ghostly swamps. Creeping in my canoe through these
dismal passages — their black waters filled with venomous snakes
and lurking alligators, and shut out from the light of day by
the intervening branches of the cypress, the dark foliage of
the magnolia, and the inextricable veils of rampant vine, with
the gray trailing moss pendant everywhere in mournful fes-
toons— my fancy has run riot through a thousand wild and
dreary imaginings which it would harrow up your soul to
hear !"

"Pray don't mention them," said Mr. Brownoker; "such
dismal scenes may suit your sombre temper; but for my part,
except to follow the deer, and to hunt the wild fowl, which I
am told abound in these horrible jungles, I should, when once
I had exhausted the novelty of the thing, make my way out,
and think pleasanter thoiights, with Asphaltum, under a jasmine
bower, or in the quiet shadow of the great live-oaks. Still
better, should I prefer the fresher airs and the more healthful
beauties of the uplands."

" And better again," interrupted Mr. Deepredde, " the glo-
ries of the wild mountain regions ; to which, by the way, I
think that it is high time we turn our thoughts."

" Despite the many pictures, with both pen and pencil,
which our host has from time to time given us of our South-
ern Landscape,"* said Mr. Yermeille, " its beauties are yet
very inadequately known. How few, while traversing the high
roads through the monotonous pine woods of North Carolina,
think of the grand Apalachian peaks, and the world of kindred

* la this mention of our own humble labours, Mr. Vermeille very kindly
employed various flattering adjectives, which we are compelled to omit.

104 THE ROMANCE OP AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

charms which delight all the western part of the State; the
soaring crown of Black Mountain, rising higher above the val-
leys around, than even the famous snow-clad simimit of Mount
Washing-ton ; and the wild passage of the French Broad through
forty miles of rugged gorge, to the peaceful and fertile valley
of the Tennessee !"

"Then again," said Mr. Flakewhite, "there lie, hard by,
the hill-beauties of the Palmetto State : King's Mountain, famed
in Eevolutionary record; the grand palisaded flanks of Table
Mountain ; the bold crest of Caesar's Head ; and the many lovely
little valleys and waterfalls which surround them— the Saluda,
and Jocassee, Slicking, and White Water."

" Bringing us at last, and by easy stages," said Mr. Megilp,
"to the third and most attractive division of the mountain
scenery of the south-eastern States— the northern part of Geor-
gia. All this northern part, by the way, abounds in noble
hill and valley views— from the grand summit of Look-out
Mountain, overlooking the magnificent plains of the Tennessee,
to the thick cluster of delicious scenes in the north-eastern
counties, of which Toccoa and Tallulah are the centre and
chief— the one a dainty, laughing, little brooklet, making one
merry, bounding leap over a precipice of nearly two hundred
feet; and the other a foaming torrent, urging its mad way
through a deep and jagged mountain chasm."

"The late Judge Charlton, one of the South's sweetest
poets," added Mr. Flakewhite, "said of this gentle cascade of
Toccoa, that it reminded him, more than any scene he had ever
beheld, of the poetic descriptions of fairy land; and he has
recorded this fancy of his in a graceful poem, a passage from
which— if our host has a copy of his "Georgia Illustrated "—I
will not hesitate to read to you.

"It runs thus," continued Mr. Flakewhite, opening the vol-
ume, which we pulled down from its dusty nook: —

SOUTH-EAST. 105

•"Beautiful brook! — -vrhen the moonlight's gleam
Glistens upon thy falling stream,
And the varied tints of thy rainbow vie
"With the brightest hues of the evening sky —
The woodland elf, and the merry fa}",
Chant on thy banks their roundelay ;
And with fairy sword, and tiny spear,
Fight o'er their bloodless battles here.
The drowsy bird, from its leafy nook,
Peers on the "whole with an anxious look;
And the cricket uplifteth its cheerful voice,
And the bats at the merry sound rejoice;
And the fairy troop, on their sylvan green,
Frolic and dance in the moonlight's sheen.' "

"But few scenes in the South," said another speaker, "have
been so beloved by the poets as this prattling little brooklet,
A few of many lines sung in its praise by a native bard,*
come to my memory at this moment.

"'ToccoaI or, the BeatttitulI this name
To thee was given by the tawny Indian girls,
When, with the summer's sultry noon, they came
To bathe their bosoms, where thy water curls
Around the mossy rocks in countless pearls;
Or, when in autumn, seeking o'er the hill
From which thy eddying current lightly whirls,
Brown nuts, their baskets of light reed to fill,
They loved to pause, and gaze upon thy beauties still.' "

" As ' capping verses' seems to be the play of the moment,"
said Mr. Yermeille, " perhaps you will allow me to repeat a
sonnet to our brook from another pen.f

" ' In the brown shadows of a mountain wood
There flows a crystal stream scarce known to song,

* Hon. Henry R. Jackson. f William C. Richards, Esq.

106 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

That to its own sweet music glides along,

Charming the else mibroken solitude !

"Tis called Toocoa in the Indian tongue,

And never yet was name more fitly given :

The Beauttfux,! beneath the smiling heaven

No lovelier stream the poet ever sung;

The forest boughs above it interweave,

And through their leafy fret-work sunbeams stray,

And on the dancing ripples tremulous play,

Ab golden threads the glancing shuttles leave ; —

Thus bright and musical the streamlet goes,

And on its marge the scented wild-flower blows.' "

" Toccoa," said Mr. Decpredcle, "is a scene as exhaustless
in its morale, as it is simple in its physique. It needs few
words to describe it intelligibly, while volumes would not suf-
fice to tell all the thought and fancy it creates. Has not some
one a story or tradition with which to close our recollections
of the spot ?"

" There is an old legend appertaining thereto," said Mr.
Brownoker, " but it's a gloomy, tragical sort of affair. How-
ever, if Blueblack will do it up for us in his Eembrandtish style,
it may be effective."

"Come, come, Blueblack!" said several voices, as that gen-
tleman shrugged his shoulders in dissent, " there's no appeal
here ! You must touch up

€\}t ©to f cgtnly 0f €mm.

"Well, I'll start you!" said Brownoker, as Mr. Blueblack
continued to hem and haw and knit his unwilling brows. " Give
us your hand and step along !

" It was a fearful night — I suppose night will be the best
hour, won't it? — black darkness overspread the land; the mut-

THE OLD LEGEND OF TOCCOA. 107

tering thunders and the vengeful lightning shook the trembling

air-

"But the mad frenzy of the elements," continued Mr. Blue-
black, taking up the grandiloquent sentence, " was a soft repose
in comparison with the tempest of angrj and revengeful passions
which tore the soul of a lonely old crone gazing from the win-
dow of her desolate cabin upon the terrible storm without.

" ' Why does not the wrath of heaven strike their savage
hearts!' she cried. '0, I live but to avenge the cruel murder
of my sons ! Not one of my darlings have their bloody hands
spared to me ! My life, once happy as a summer morn, they
have made, alas ! more wretched than the bitterest winter's night !
God, send me my revenge ; but what am I to do with vengeance,
when I am only too weak to protect myself— protect myself!
ha! ha! Let me be avenged, and I care not how soon Toccoa
sings its death song over the old woman's lonely grave!'

" Here the passionate soliloquy of our solitary watcher was
interrupted by the sudden and stealthy entrance of a large
iroop of Indians, who had come, evidently, in search of herself.

'"Yes, yes!' she cried. 'This at least is merciful in you!
to take the life you have robbed of all its light and hope!'

" ' Peace !' said the chief, gravely. ' We seek not your poor
life. If we have slain your people, it is because they have
stolen our lands and put out our council iires.'

If you mean me no harm, then why do you seek me ?'
To guide us by Toccoa to the valley below. We are
strangers here and know not the path, while you listen to the
fall of the silvery waters all day long.'

" ' Conduct you over the falls that you may carry to other
quiet homes the desolation you have left in mine ! I will not
lead you !' answered the woman ; but as the arm of the savao-e
rose threateningly above her head, another thought seemed to
cross her mind, and she continued, ' I will go. Spare me, and

108 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

promise me your protection and friendsliip, and I will go witli

you !'

» ' I promise, and the red-skin never lies,' replied tlie chief,
motioning her to take- her place at the head of the file, as he
moved towards the door.

"Many a winding bout did the old crone lead the ghostly
procession, as it slowly struggled, in single file, against the pelt-

ings of the storm.

" ' A moment's treachery and you die,' said the savage,
growing somewhat surprised at the length of the way.

" ' You will soon be at the bottom of the falls !' replied the
guide, quietly; and the next instant she stood upon the ex-
tremest verge of the precipice.

" In the obscurity of the hour and the roar of the tempest, no
eye or ear but her own could see or feel the dropping waters.

" Stepping aside at this critical moment, cautiously and
unseen, her trusting followers moved on, each after the other,
down the deep and fatal abyss, from which no wail of despair
or death rose above the fury of the storm. One by one, they
thus marched to their fearful graves, until not a soul of all the
devoted procession lived to tell the gloomy tale.

"As her last foe perished, the wretched woman uttered a
shout of hellish triumph. 'Not yet, not yet, will I leave the
fiends!' slie cried; 'I'll follow them to their living graves!'
and with one mad leap she sunk with her victims into the
dark basin of Toccoa."

" A gloomy story for so smiling a scene," said Flakewhite ;
"but alas! how many gay faces are masks to bitter thoughts."

"A dead march is not exactly the music to go home by,"
said Mr. Brownoker, as he looked for his hat. " I hope Blue-
black will hereafter give us his sentiments at the beginning,
rather than at the end of the evening."

CHAPTER Yl.

" Where are we going ?" said the amiable cliairman, re-
peating Mr. Brownoker's inquiry touching the route of the
night. Brownoker was always curious on this point, as though
it made the least difference in the world to him, happy in all
places and circumstances, whither he went. " Where are we
going, my dear fellow ? Not very far from our last night's
camp at Toccoa; only a pleasant walk, if you will, of half a
dozen miles thence to the famous cascades of Tallulah, the
Terni of Georgia."

" ' Charming the eye with dread — a matchless cataract !' " mur-
mured the Professor, turning Childe Harold over in his thoughts.

" Truly, * a matchless cataract,' " added Mr. Vermeille, " hard-
ly surpassed by any parallel scene in the world. Unlike the
beautiful Toccoa, descending sweetly and gently upon us, as
the soft whispers of angels, the mad waters of Tallulah — or
Terrora the Terrible, as the stream is sometimes called — howl
and hiss and boil in endless torture, affrighting the ear like
the wails of tortured spirits down, in their deep and dark im-
prisonment."

" Mr. Yermeille," resumed the chairman, smiling at his

110 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

friend's desperate metaphors, " means to tell us, simply, tliat
while the waters of Toccoa drop down upon us noiselessly, in a
single waving line, leaving no impression upon the mind deeper
than a pleasing sense of the beautiful, Tallulah, on the contrary,
exhibits all the sterner elements of the grand and the sublime,
in the greater volume and rapidity of its floods, in their passage,
not trippingly over an embowered wall, but wildly through
the rugged bed of a deep ravine. This stupendous chasm in
the Blue Ridge is a thousand feet deep ; its granite walls rising
perpendicularly in many places to the summit of the mountains.
It extends in a devious line for nearly a mile, and the waters
make, in their transit, a long series of cascades of great variety
in form and extent. At one moment the stream flows peace-
fully as at Lodore,* and, anon, it makes a grand free plunge
of fifty or sixty feet, as at the falls known as the Oceana and
the Tempesta, and again struggles and writhes amidst the con-
fused boulders gathered at some sharp angle in the gorge.
There are altogether no less than nine distinct cascades, each
in itself worthy of a pilgrimage to see. They might have been
not iufelicitously baptized with the names of the Muses, for
they present, in their several individualities, all the contrasting
characteristics of the mythic group, from the dainty grace of
the fair Terpsichore, to the solemn humour of grave Melpomene.
" Seen from above, the picture is ever-changing and always
impressive ; while in the bed of the ravine, to which numerous
paths lead the visitor, a totally different and yet more in-
teresting portfolio is opened. These charming cascades have
become of late years a place of favourite resort for the dwellers
on the seaboard of the Southern States. They are the central
attraction of a wide field of natural beauties; and the whole
region abounds with the summer villas of the opulent planters.

* See frontispiece.

TALLULAH AND TOCCOA. m

Many of these elegant seats embellish the neighbouring village
of Clarksville ; a convenient place from which to reach all the
surrounding points of interest. Toccoa and Tallulah in one
dh-ection, and the winsome vale of Nacoochee and the noble
Yonah, in another. The Southern poets have always deJighted
to draw inspiration from these pet shrines of Nature. Who
among us can gather some of their stray wreaths ?"

"If my memory will be kind," said Mr. Flakewhite, in
answer to this demand of the chair, "I will recall, for your
edification, some passages from a tributary poem to Tallulah by
the Hon. Henry E. Jackson, who served us, you may remem-
ber, at our last meeting, in our meditations at Toccoa. The
poet is, like ourselves, passing from the gentler to the grander
of the sister streams.

" ' But hark ! beneath yon hoary precipice,

The rush of mightier waters, as they pour
In foaming torrents through the dark abyss.

Which echoes back the thunders of their roar;
Approach the frightful gorge, and, gazing o'er,

What mad emotions through the bosom thrill;
Hast ever seen so dread a sight before?

Tallulah ! by that name we hail thee still,

And own that thou art justly called the Terrible!

In vain o'er thee shall glow with wild delight

The painter's eye, and voiceless still sliall be
The poet's tongue, who from this giddy height

Shall kindle in thy awful minstrelsy!
Thou art too mighty in thy grandeur — we

Too weak to give fit utterance to the soul!
Tliy billows mock us with their tempest glee.

As thundering on while countless ages roll.

Thou scornest man's applause, alike with man's control.'"

" "While talking of the romance of this picturesque neigh-
bourhood," said Mr. Megilp, " I should like to tell you the

112 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

tragic legend wliicli gives name to the little valley of Nacoo-
chee ; all about a lovely Indian princess, who sacrificed her
life to her passion for the son of a rival chieftain, and was
buried with her lover beneath a huge mound, conspicuous in
the centre of the valley at this day. But leaving you to fash-
ion the tale for yourself, as every body else has done, I will
make my homage to the beauty of the valley in the numbers
of a remembered song.*

" * Enshrined in my heart is the vale of Nacoochee,
And memory often makes pilgrimage sweet
To the beautiful haunts of the bright Chattahooche,
Where its silvery foimtains in melody meet.

The poets may boast if they will, of "Wj-oming,

Of peerless Avoea, and lovely Cashmere ;
My fancy, contented without any roaming.

Shall find in Nacoochee a valley more dear.

Oh I soft are its airs, and delicious its breezes,

Perfumed by the breath of a thousand wild flowers ;

And wafting the music of Nature, which pleases
Far more than the charms of Apollo's rare powers.

The sentinel mountains around this sweet valley
Lift watchful and proudly their towering forms ;

And when 'round their crests the fierce tempest clouds rally,
It sleeps in their bosoms imrecking of storms.

Above thee, oh vale of my heart 1 there's a si)lendour
Unwonted and peerless in day's glowing beam ;

And never are Dian's chaste kisses so tender,

As when she bestows them on thy crystal stream.

Farewell, lovely valley! sweet theme of my numbers,
Thy beauty shall evermore dwell in my heart ;

No vision more rare shall be known to my slumbers.
No scene from my memory shall later depart 1' "

* William C. Richards, Esq.

MANNERS OF THE MOUNTAINEERS. 113

" The vaUej of Nacoochee," said Mr. Brownoker, as Megilp
ended his lyric, " is useful as well as ornamental ; its soil yield-
ing to the tiller rich returns, not only of luscious grains and
fruits, but of pure gold. Indeed, as you are all aware, the
mountain regions of Georgia, and the Carolinas, have long been
successfully searched for the precious ore. In the " North State,"
as the people here call the upper Carolina, the government
years ago established a branch mint, and another in Georgia,
not more than two days' stout walk from Nacoochee. Iron is
also found in this region, but it is more practically abundant
a little further westward."

"Mr. Brownoker's allusion to the material wealth of these
too much isolated regions of the South-east, leads me to give
expression to a thought which has often come to my mind,"
said the chairman; "the hope that the influx of new and
broader ideas, carried thither by the increasing current of travel,
and by enlarged industry and ambition, will soon lift the peo-
ple above the gross ignorance in which they at present so con-
tentedly rest. In no part of our Union is the mental condition
of the peasantry so low as among the inhabitants of the Southern
mountain lands; so destitute are they of schools, and so little
is their intercourse with the world beyond them. Where the
usual means of education happen to be wanting at the North
and West, there is still a constant shifting and interchange of
population, which induces mental activity and progress."

"I sincerely hope that there will be, through some agency
or other, a change for the better before my next visit," said
Mr. Megilp, " and that the good people will learn the uses of
some of the necessities, if not of the comforts and refinements
of life. I have travelled weeks together, hereabouts, without
finding a book or a newspaper, or any one who could have
read them had they been there. Sometimes I have had diffi-
culty in making myself intelligible to their uncultured ears
8 '

114 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

and have been set down as belonging to any race but their
own. One estimable lady thought I was too 'light complected'
for an * Ingin,' and that I talked 'too broken' to be an
'Irisher' or a 'Jew,' or even a 'Frenchman.' To relieve her
mind, I gravely informed her that I was a Turk — a claim sup-
ported by the miraculous beard I wore at the time, as well
as by a genuine hookah I always carry with me, and was then
smoking; to say nothing about a famous Greek cap which
adorned my phrenology."

" ' Lord alive !' exclaimed the simple matron, in great alarm,
and dropping her own corn-cob pipe from her lips. ' You
don't mean to say that you are one o' them heathen what I've
heerd tell of, that lives on a great wall, and has ever so many
women, and chucks their motherless babes under the wheels of
Juggerney !'

" ' I certainly belong there,' said I, ' but my countrymen are
very much slandered. We do the babies now with epsom salts,
and keep " Juggerney " for the old women only. As to the
wives, it's against the law for any man to have over forty-seven,
except the Sultan, and we are not allowed to whip them more
than twice a day, unless they happen to be exceedingly ob-
streperous.'

" ' The Lord preserve us !' ejaculated my hostess. ' I wonder
they let sich critters go about!'

" ' Oh !' said I, ' when we are away from home we always
do just like other people. As for myself, I came over on an
elephant and six dromedaries to present a gold "Juggerney"
to the President of the United States, as a mark of respect from
my uncle, the great Cham.'

" This allusion to my august relative, and the high dignity
of my mission, awakened the respect of the old lady, and her
reverence greatly increased when I informed her that the Presi-
dent had insisted upon my staying with him a month, and had

megilp's metamorphoses. 115

given me a lock of his hair in a gutta-percha box to carry
back to my Imperial uncle.

" When, as supper time was approaching, the worthy widow
grew doubtful about the abilities of her cuisine to supply the
wants of so extraordinary a traveller as myself, I assured her
that I had become accustomed to eat any thing, though if she
had such an article in the house as a few young an°d tender
cats

" ' Cats ! oh gracious !'

Well, well, it's no matter if you haven't got them ; and,
then, if you had, you wouldn't know precisely how to cook
them; and, unless they are done exactly right they are no
nicer than chickens and other things of that sort; so just do
the best you can.'

" When supper was ready, and the hostess watched my skill
in disposing of her provisions, she seemed to think that I had
indeed a wonderful knack of adapting myself to circumstances,
whatever they were !

" On another occasion," continued the veracious Megilp,
"when I was travelling in the character of a preacher— my'
vocation about that time varied with each passing day— I held
up for the night at a house, where a bridal ceremony \vas in
waiting. The victims were young slaves of the family. Great
preparations had been made, and both whites and blacks were
expecting to have 'a time.'

''Unfortunately, just at the very height of expectation,
intelligence was received of the sudden illness of the minister
and his consequent inability to attend. Here was a dilemma!
To postpone the frolic was a shocking thought to everybody;
but to me, the turn in affairs was particularly annoying, when
every eye was bent upon me with a look which I could not
fail to understand, and if I had failed to do so, it would not
have ameliorated my condition in the least, for a general request

116 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

was immediately made in so many plain words, tliat I should
assume the office of the absent priest !

" The thing seemed so simple to every body, except myself,
that there was no avoiding it, unless I doffed my borrowed
plumes; and I have always played whatever part I have as-
sumed, at all risks. Then the bride-elect, too— a pretty girl,
though of a rather sunburnt hue — considered my hesitation as
so unnecessarily cruel, that I was compelled to yield; and, in
due time, the Eev. Mr. Megilp united the happy pair for better
and for worse, with the grave injunction that what he had
joined together no man should put asunder! Of course I
declined all fee for my clerical service, even to the hymeneal
kiss. Not having passed that way since, I am able to guess
only at the results of my evening's work. I trust, however,
that they have been satisfactory to all parties."

" Megilp's adventures," said Mr. Brownoker, when the
gravity of our guests was restored, "remind me of a merry
experience of my own. Like him, I was travelling in the
Cherokee region of Georgia, but I was accompanied by a wag-
gish friend more given to fun than myself even. I am a great
consumer of the article, but he is a manufacturer. He makes
sport every where, and of every thing. Life is to him a per-
petual laugh.

" We were driving towards the falls of Tallulah. Our road
lay along an elevated tract where water is rarely abundant,
and just then a protracted drought had made it yet more scarce;
we found it difficult to keep our horses sufficiently soaked, espe-
cially as the few and far between settlers were quite disinclined
to supply us from their half-empty wells. In our dilemma
we thought it advisable to astonish the natives a little, and the
most facile means seemed to be to turn Frenchmen, seeing that
we could speak the language execrably, and like Megilp when
he played the Grand Turk, were bearded like the pard. It

MR. BROWNOKER's STORY. 117

was agreed that my companion should be totally ignorant of
the English tongue, while I should be barely able to make
myself intelligible.

"When we came within hearing of the next house, my
friend Harry rolled off in a towering voice, a Gallic rigmarole,
which would have petrified a Canadian; and which speedily
brought an old woman and a troop of white-headed clay-eating
urchins to the door.

"Pointing to the horse, Harry continued an earnest and
vigorous discharge of his strange gibberish at the ears of the
bewildered woman, which he did not cease for a moment, not
even as I was endeavouring to translate his speech.

" ' Mon ami — my frien — madam, vous demande de I'eau for
de cheval — de horse.'

" ' Sir !' said the poor woman.

" ' De I'eau, madam ! watere for de horse. You understan'
me, mon dieu !'

" ' Oh yes I' cried madam, with beaming intelligence. ' I
understand you a little, but that other gentleman, I can't make
out at all what he says.'

" ' Yous voyez, madam,' said I, as we alighted and were
preparing to accept her ready proffer of the water we required,
'que nous sommes — zat is, we are ze Frenchmans— we have
not been long temps— vat you call long time, in dis vilain pays
— dis beautiful countree ; and nous ne don't speak English

pas.'

"Every thing was so new and strange to us, that we found
it impossible first to get the bucket down the well and after-
wards to raise it up ; so madam, in seeking to instruct us, had
to do both herself Seeing me especially charmed with some
bees humming around the pail, and seeking with gay delight
to catch them, she warned me that they would sting.

" ' Mon dieu !' I exclaimed, starting back in affright, ' you

118 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

tink him hite ! Sacre bleu! mille tonnerres ! petites pommes

de terre !'

" At this moment a grim suspicious old mastiff, who evi-
dently was not to be sold so cheaply as his mistress, poked his
inquiring nose so close to my companion's person that in his
alarm he for an instant forgot his part, and cried in most be-
tray ingly intelligible Saxon, ' Get out !'

" The woman turned with an odd look of surprise, first at
Harry and then at me.

" ' My frien', madam,' said I, in explanation, ' speak one,
two, three, leetle word English! pas de plus! He say "verra
well, — verra well indeed, — good mornin," " how you do,"
" I tank you," " no you don't," " get out !" Zat is all !'

" Our divertissement was so successftd, that we determined
to continue it as much for amusement as for use. We passed
neither house nor traveller without leaving the wonder behind
us, how poor devils like ourselves, in a strange land, and so
deplorably ignorant of the language, could manage to find oux
way about !

"Venerable gentlemen whom we met on the road, took
infinite trouble to instruct us in the way, which we knew far
better than they themselves; even counting the miles from
point to point on their fingers!

" When we held up, for the night, at one of the cabins by
the wayside, we changed characters, Harry talking with con-
siderable fluency, while I, having just left Paris, could not speak
a word. When we were seated at the supper table, Harry
inquired if it was customary to make prayers.

" ' How ?' said our hostess.

" ' I mean, do you ask for blessings ?'

" ' Oh, ah, yes ! We ask a blessing— yes sir !'

"Whereupon, Harry, with the gravest air imaginable, and
with edifying unction, said —

MR. BROWNOKER'S STORY. 119

" ' 0, Saint Patrick, make us able
To eat all things on the table 1'

(( c

•You may be surprised, madam,' said he, in reply to tlie
astonished look of the simple landlady, 'but that is the way
we do those things in our country!' As supper proceeded,
Harry continued to explain the customs of his country, and
so novel were they to myself, and so grotesque the stories which
he told of my own life and character, that it was with great
difficulty I could keep my countenance and save myself from
laughing outright

"At another time we attempted a negotiation for the pur-
chase of some watermelons and peaches, neither of which we
had ever seen before. The melon we would not buy nnless
permitted to taste it, which the man seemed to consider a very
unreasonable demand; and the peaches we half devoured in
successive and dubious trials of their flavour; we affected to
take the things as a present, and made the poor fellow nearly
crazy in his efforts to explain to us that they were to be sold
and not given away. At last, in despair of comprehending
each other, we gave the fruiterer some change and bade him

bon jour.

"It happened, that while Harry was thus jabbering to a
maiden by a brook-side, he was overheard by a party of ladies
and gentlemen who approached at the moment, on their way,
like ourselves, to the Falls. As we expected to stay some
time at Tallulah, we did not intend to continue our rather diffi-
cult role while there ; but after committing ourselves as we had
wi'th our fellow tourists, Harry was bent upon ' going through,'
as he said. And 'go through,' and bravely, too, he did, until
the second night as he was smoking upon the piazza, within
hearing of a love-making pair from the 'low countree,' the lady
cautioned her gallant to speak less loudly.

120 THE EOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE.

"'Oh!' said Lovelace, 'he's nothing but a stupid dolt of
a Frenchman, and does not understand a word we say ;' and
the soft dialogue went on unreservedly.

" The character of this amorous tryst and talk was of so
pleasing a kind, and that of the swain so displeasing to Harry,
that he could not refrain from confiding it to me, and I to
others, until at length my friend was unmasked ; at first with
every prospect of coffee and pistols, but afterwards to his own
and everybody else's entire satisfaction and extreme amuse-
ment.

" Two or three years later I was again travelling this same
road, but with a different companion. Kecalling the incidents of
my former journey, I promised him, should we be able to find
the house where we had passed our first night on that occasion,
to resume my character of foreigner. But the day was waning,
and fearful of the approaching darkness, we were constrained
to seek quarters without delay. Coming to what seemed to
us as comfortable ones as we might expect, we held a pleasant
talk, in good English, of course, with the old man as we
bespoke his hospitality. Judge of our surprise and vexation,
when we entered the house and found it to be the very one
of which we had been in search ! As it was then too late to
resume my former role, I determined to ignore it altogether.

" Down we sat in the same little shed-room, upon the same
low chairs, to the same high table ; the same old hostess in
the same place, and I too, seated as two years before.

" ' I reckon,' said madam, after eyeing me with long and
close scrutiny, ' that you have travelled this road afore ?'

" ' My first visit to these parts, madam !' said I, coolly ; at
the same time passing my cup for additional coffee.

" For a while she was silent, but at length renewed her
attack.

MR. BROWNOKER's STORY. 121

" ' You remind me so mucli,' said slie, ' of a gentleman who
was here two years ago !'

" ' Ah !' I answered, indifferently.

" ' Yes !' said she, after another pause, and resuming the
thread of her reverie as if no interval had occurred in the
conversation. ' Yes ! very much ! You are powerful like him,
though you don't talk like him. He was a Frenchman, I think
he said; and I couldn't make any sense of a word he spoke.
All but your talk, you are just as like him as two peas. But
that other man, there, ain't a bit like the one who was with

him.'

"I affected to pay little attention to what my hostess was
saying, but my friend had to choke down his merriment with
his handkerchief and a sudden cough.

"At last, as the old lady continued to wonder at my sin-
gular resemblance to her former guest, I asked her if he was
so and so, this, that, and the other.

" ' Just so ! exactly ! that's him to a dot !' said she in reply
to all my questions.

'" Ah !' said I, laughing. ' Now I understand it. I know
who you are talking of; wonder I did not think of him be-
fore!' And then, addressing my tortured friend, I continued:
'It must be Massareau and his brother! of course!'

" ' Massareau — Frangois Massareau and his brother !' said I,
speaking conclusively to our hostess. ' They are Frenchmen ;
live near me ; I know them well ; have heard them speak of
their visit to Tallulah— two years ago did you say?'

" ' Yes, two years, exactly.'

" ' Exactly !' said I. ' They were here at that time. Do
you know I have been often mistaken for Frangois ; people
have come to me talking a string of stuff, outlandish lingo that
I couldn't make head or tail of; and I have had the greatest

122 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

trouble to convince them that they had got hold of the wrong
passenger,'

" This explanation quite cleared up the mystery and set
the old lady's mind at rest for the balance of our stay.

" But my story is not yet told ; after the lapse of another
two years I was a third time travelling this road, and now,
again, with my first companion. I had narrated to him the
. continuation of our play at the old lady's, and we were careful
to pass another night under her roof and to resume the style
and character of ' Frangois Massareau and his brother.' I, of
course, was to have learned in the lapse of four years to speak
the langauge sufficiently to make myself understood.

" The old woman was more dumbfounded than ever, when
I disavowed all knowledge of the last visit I had made her,
and claimed identity with the hero of the first only ; but my
broken speech and the mention of my name of Massareau set
her right again, and she entertained us through the evening
with a description of my last visit, and of the terrible bothera-
tion into which my wonderful likeness to myself had thrown
her. On my second visit I had taken occasion to give so good
an account of M. FranQois Massareau, that now, he received the
heartiest welcome and care. Whether, the next time I go
there, I shall be myself, or somebody else, I cannot say!"

" Notwithstanding the narrowed ambition and the primi-
tive manners of these mountaineers in their quiet insulated life,"
said Mr, Flakewhite, as our waggish historian ended his grave
anecdotes, " you may yet find them dreaming day-dreams and
nursing gentle thoughts of beauty and love, no less than the
dainty dwellers in more cultured lands. In attestation of this
remark I could tell you a simple yet romantic history, con-
nected with the very spot we are now visiting."

" You will place us under great obligations," said the chair-
man.

KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 123

" By all means let us hear Flakewliite's experience !" said
everybody else.

And without further prelude, the brother began his record
of the joys and sorrows of

" I had spent a long and happy season at the beautiful
Falls of Tallulah, scarcely conscious of the lapse of time as I
wandered and mused and studied, day after day, amidst the
ever varying scene ; my mercurial humour leading me, at one
hour, merrily along the pebbly marge of the prattling brooklet,
coquetting with the gay sunshine as if it never dreamed of
a ruder life; and, anon, irresistibly dragging me down, as the
fabled water wraiths drew their fated victims, into the gloomy
and ghostly shades of the dark weird chasms, where the late
careless waters were madly struggling with the giant rocks
and the ingulphing precipice; or, when in a more social vein,
I would set off with my host and other worthies of the woods
in quest of the bounding deer, returning at night to chat over
the fortunes of the day and exchange tales of past prowess.
To all these agreeable occupations, there was pleasantly added
such thoughts as I could draw from the glimpses of the great
world beyond, which the constant, though quiet current of
summer visitors afforded me.

" By and by the sorrowing winds of autumn came to deepen
the wailing chant of the waters, and the spirit of the place
grew oppressive in its loneliness and sadness. Even the kindly
humour of my host and the society of his strangely interesting
family, so entirely failed to relieve the deepening gloom of
my reveries, that I determined to seek brighter and more cheer-

124 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

ful scenes. It was on the eve of my departure, tliat I -was
commiserating my worthy host upon the untowardness of his
lot, on being chained forever to so lonely and desolate a home,
when he assured me, with a smile, that he found in his secluded
dells a thousand grateful objects for thought and study, which
those habituated to more brilliant and more busy scenes never
suspected to exist.

'"It is not alone,' said he, ' in your great cities that the
romance of thought and action is to be found. Even in these
thinly peopled woods, the observant eye may read life's his-
tories, its smiles and tears, in the perpetual rehearsal of all the
acts and scenes in both the comedy and tragedy of life. If
you please, I will tell you a simple tale of love and ambition,
which may read as pleasantly as any stories to be gathered
in your thronged streets and crowded saloons.'

" ' Indeed,' I answered, ' I should of all things like to hear
your history.'

" ' You must not anticipate too much,' said he, observing
my look of eager expectation. 'My heroine is but a simple
country lass. One of that untaught class whom you derisively
call "crackers." Let me see — what shall I name her? Kitty?
Yes, Kitty it shall be, after my good wife. "Kitty, the wood-
man's daughter." '

"Kittv, at that hour of her life of which I am speaking,
was just upon the mystic threshold of womanhood. As she
was herself well enough aware, she was a provokingly pretty
lass, and when her country beaux told her so in their plain
frank way, she made the sweetest of scornful mouths, and won-
dered why they could not tell her something new. In the
city she would soon have been quite spoiled — no, not quite,
for despite her vanity and coquetry, there was at the bottom
of her nature a truth and goodness which nothing could spoil.
It was the unconscious perception of these better and deeper

KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 125

traits of Kitty's cliaracter, which made lier rude admirers so
readily forgive all her pretty imperious disdain. Though af-
flicted, as she thought, with incorrigibly rosy health, there was
a native grace and delicacy in her whole person and manner,
and a sentiment of refinement in all her tastes and feelings,
which seemed to lift her for above the social grade of her
kindred and fellows. Her parents were too proud of these
attractions in their " little lady," as they delighted to call her,
to notice their dangerous tendency; how they were filling her
young dreaming heart with aspirations above the position in
which fortune had placed her; aspirations which might some
day lure their pretty butterfly far beyond their own narrow
reach. This danger they did not perceive, much less the fatal
nourishment it drew from the fascinating glimpses of a prouder
and more beautiful life, which Kitty saw in the society of the
summer visitants to the Falls; who were at once attracted by
her beauty and wit, and to whose manners and tastes she
assimilated herself as by instinct. Though she did not neg-
lect, yet she would hasten her household toils, that she might
talk with the fair girls from the lowlands about the glittering
scenes of their own gay life, and they, pleased with her eager
curiosity and interest, would open her beaming eyes to a thou-
sand seductive pictures. The elegant compliments, too, of the
gentlemen, charmed her beyond measure, though she received
their honeyed speeches with a mixture of girlish simplicity and
womanly sense, which was an effectual antidote to any poison
they bore, beyond a fostering of her thoughtless vanity and
vague ambition. How proudly she looked down upon her
country mates, as she familiarly walked or rode by the side
of the city ladies! and with what a queenly air she saluted
her rustic swains when she encountered them, as she coquetted
with her more elegant admirers 1

"Kitty, at this time, was rapidly cherishing a spirit of

126 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

discontent with lier humble sphere. She dreamed of gay
dresses, and perfumed gloves, and delicate slippers, while she
looked at her own simple wardrobe. She thought of soft car-
pets, as she scornfully trod the fragrant, flowery greensward;
and of piano-fortes and opera-airs, as she turned a wearied
ear from the carols of the birds in the tree-tops. Even when
the winter days came and she was again cast upon the society
of her own home, only, the fatal spell still influenced her,
through the luring voice of the light books which her summer
friends had left behind them ; just such books as she could
read with the least possible advantage, especially in her then
romantic humour.

" She would muse over these fascinating pages by the even-
ing fire-side, to the entire forgetfulness of the gossip around
her, and until she grew unable to listen, even with patience,
to the homely talk of the few country lads who were still
bold enough to approach her. They were few, indeed, and
daily diminishing in number, in the frostiness of her fine lady
airs ; for to men untaught in the gallantries of ^ courtly society,
there is no object in the world so awe-inspiring as the presence
of a proud and beautiful woman.

" While her timid suitors thus one after the other withdrew,
there was one, the humblest of them all, who still lingered in
her train. Night after night, poor Davy, as he was called,
would come to her father's hearth, and, while talking of the
chase or of the crops with the honest woodman, would watch
the loved features of his absent-minded or preoccupied Kitty.
Now Kitty had a sort of liking for Davy, but it had never
entered into her haughty head that he, of all her associates,
could by any possibility aspire to any higher sort of interest
in her heart; and, for this very reason, no doubt, she often
deigned to show the lad much more consideration than she
bestowed upon his betters. Indeed, she honoured him with

I

KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 127

confidences she would have shrunk from imparting to any of
her own sex. She would tell him of her proud dreams and
exalted fancies. Once she treated him to a fall length picture
of the extraordinary gentleman for whom she was saving up
her little heart ; a picture in which the unhappy Davy could
detect no resemblance whatever to himself.

" The winter was the golden season of our hero's life, for
then he enjoyed an access to the shrine of his silent worship,
from which he was barred in the warm months by the inter-
vention of more favoured supplicants. These brighter days of
the year — sadder ones to Davy — were again returning; but,
as a last ray of his passing sunshine, Kitty had, to his great
delight, invited him to accompany her on a visit to the Falls.
Nature was donning her gayest attire, and her hopeful smiles
won responsive gladness from the blithe heart of our Kitty,
dreamily expectant of coming pleasures. Davy thought that
he had never seen lier looking so beautiful, and he watched
her with loving anxiety as she flew with mad temerity from
rock to rock, up and down the frightful ravine.

" ' Don't, O don't, Kitty !' he would cry, in painful alarm
at her daring. ' Please, don't ! If you should fall into the
water, what should I do '

" ' "What should you do, indeed ! "Why fish me out to be
sure ! A pretty beau you are, not to know what to do in such
a simple case!' and on she would fly over yet more danger-
ous paths.

" At length, as if to vindicate the reasonableness of Davy's
fears, while rounding a narrow ledge, her foot slipped, and
she fell — into the arms, not, alas! of her honest cicerone, but
of a new-comer, who, happily for her, was at that timely in-
stant turning the rocky corner from the opposite side.

" The stranger smiled, as he placed her in safety upon her
wilful feet, with a playful reproof of her reckless courage;

128 THE ROMA^"CE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE.

and Kittj, conquering the blusli wliicli mantled her face as
she noticed that her protector was a stranger and a ' gentle-
man,' expressed her thanks in very proper phrase ; so gracefully,
indeed, as to win him to linger by her side in her further wan-
derings about the gorge ; and, as to lead him, when they
regained the spot of their first meeting, and Kitty intimated
her intention of returning home, to insist upon accompanying
her.

" ' Besides,' said he, urging his request, which she had half
denied, and pointing to Davy, still rooted to the place from
whence he had witnessed her lucky escape, ' our young friend,
there, takes such poor care of you, that I can no more trust
you to him than to yourself!'

" ' Oh ! I thank you !' said Kitty. ' It was not Davy's
fault! I have but a little way to go, only to the first house
on the road, which you must have travelled in coming here.'

"'Ah! so 3^our father lives at the first house, does he?
Then you can't prevent my going with you, for that is my
home, too, for a while. And so,' he continued, looking at the
young girl with sincere interest, ' 3'ou are that Ejtty of whom
I have heard my sister Is'ora — Miss Waller, talk so much !'

" ' Nora ! — Miss Waller !' cried Kitty, in delighted surprise.
'And, are you her brother '

" ' Charles Waller — ^like my sister, your old, good friend,
if you will let it be so,' said the gentleman, gaily.

" Kitty readily accepted the proffered friendship, both fu-
ture and retrospective, for the stranger's sister was the best
beloved of all her gay summer friends. She had countless
questions to ask about her, and when they were answered,
there came other things to talk of, so that their long Avalk
seemed not half long enough, to Kitty, at least, when it
brought them to her father's door.

" Honest Davy had trudged on behind, all the while, in

KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 129

a much less happy mood than that in which he had begun
the excursion; his jealous heart drawing most discouraging
comparisons between his new rival and himself— comparisons
which, in justice to Kitty, we must say, it never occurred to
herself to make.

"A cordial companionship was soon established between
Kitty and her guest. Her merry, pleasant society, often be-
guiled him from his studies, and she was not unfrequently
the sharer of his long forest- walks. He taught her the mystery
of the pencil, as his sister had before initiated her into the de-
lights of music. Sometimes, too, he playfully helped her in
her household cares, even to the making of the pies, and the
milking of the cows.

" Our slighted Davy looked with an evil eye upon this
unwelcome intimacy, but he knew not how to check it. If
he were cross, Kitty would scold, and Charles would laugh;
but so kindly, that he felt himself compelled to gratitude,
rather than to resentment. Indeed, despite himself, he soon
grew to like Charles, and to become his constant and willine;
attendant in his rambles, as he sketched or hunted. Perhaps
he was not unconscious of the advantage w^hich the association
was to him, for he had something of Kitty's own gift of as-
similation, a gift which was now manifesting itself in a way
which surprised even Kitty herself, since she had never con-
sidered Davy a genius, either developed or undeveloped.

"As the weeks rolled by, and, especially, as new guests

came to, her father's house, Kitty's manner towards Charles

underwent a very noticeable change. She did not meet him

with the same sisterly frankness, or in the same merry humour.

Charles, at such times, thinking he had unwittingly offended

her, would seek to atone by greater kindness for his fancied

faults. Little suspecting his real, though unintentional crime

the theft of the poor girl's simple heart — his attempted repara-
9

130 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

tion but increased his guilt ; for the more he sought to regain
the ground he fancied that he had lost in her esteem, the more
she loved, and the more she still avoided him.

" On one occasion, to call back her truant gaiety, he showed
her some of his pictures which she had not yet seen. Among
them was a portrait of his sister, with which Kitty was espe-
cially delighted.

"'And now,' said he, with a smile, 'you shall see another
picture — that of my sister's best friend ;' and, after a moment's
hesitation, he displayed another face of such winning sweetness,
that Kitty silently wondered if there could be any living woman
so beautiful !

" ' It is,' said Charles, reading her unspoken thought, ' not
half so lovely as the original ! I am sure you will love her-
self much more than you admire her picture !'

"'I,' said Kitty. 'How shall I ever see her?'

" ' She is coming soon.'

" ' Coming here !'

" ' Yes, with my sister. Why don't you congratulate me,
Kitty ?'

" ' Because, because,' answered Kitty, blushing. ' Because
I '

" ' Now be a good Kitty, and say that it is because they
will take me away with them ! Well, Kitty, there can be no
pleasure without its pain; and, I assure you, that to leave you
and all these beautiful scenes, where I have lived so long,
and enjoyed myself so much, is a great drawback to my plea-
sure now.'

" Kitty made but an awkward reply, either to the raillery,
or the regard, in Charles' speech ; for a new and absorbing
thought grew in her mind, as she still looked at the picture.

" ' And is she the lady who writes you so many letters ?'
she asked at last, with a faint smile.

KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 131

" ' Ah ! what an inquisitive little Kitty ! Has Davy never
written you any letters?'

" ' Davy ! write me letters !'

"'Oh! I remember, he has never been away from youl
But O, Kitty, the ink and paper he would have wasted, if he
had been!'

" ' Davy — write — me — letters !' said Kitty, again, in increased
astonishment.

" ' Why, he looks a hundred letters to you, every time he
brings me one 1'

" ' I hate him !' cried Kitty, with sudden vehemence.

" ' Hate him ! Hate good, honest Davy !' said Charles,
gravely. ' But that is a pity, for he loves you dearly.'

" * No, no, never ! I hate him !' repeated Kitty, giving
vent to the fast flowing tears, as she hastened out of the room.

" While rapidly passing through the general sitting-room
on her way to her own apartment, she was stopped by some
strangers, who had at that moment arrived ; and in an instant
she was in the arms of her friend Nora, whose efforts to kiss
away her unwonted tears, were seconded by the fair original
of Charles' treasured portrait.

" ' And my brother, Kitty, have you taken good care of
him ? Ah, if you have not, Caro' here, will help me scold
you, as she has just helped me kiss you !'

" ' He, he is — in his room,' said Kitty, as she hurried away,
on hearing Charles' bounding step following the sound of his
sister's voice.

" Her abrupt flight Avas unnoticed, in the glad meeting of
Charles and his friends, and neither of them thought of her
again, until they met her at the tea-table, when her strange
and abstracted mood was a matter of general and curious
remark.

" ' What,' said Nora, when she was again alone Avith Charles

132 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

and Caro'—as she called her companion—' What is the matter
with Kitty? So different from what she was last summer I'

" ' And to what she has been until to-day,' said Charles.
'Some quarrel, I suppose, with Davy!'

"'Davy!' said Nora, 'that reminds me how greatly he has
improved since my last year's visit! And is he as much
devoted to Kitty as ever?'

" ' He loves her to distraction,' said Charles, ' and I do not
doubt but that she loves him, for he is almost the only one
of her swains whom she admits to her intimacy. We must
manao-e to effect a reconciliation between them.' And then
Charles broke out into a long catalogue of the praises of Kitty,
extolling her as the sunlight of his life at the Falls.

" Caro' listened silently and thoughtfully, divining at once a
secret, which Charles had failed to read, plainly as it had been
shown to him. But, then, Charles' and Caro's interest in the
matter was widely different.

" In the days which followed, Caro' devoted herself to Kitty,
with assiduous kindness, and soon drew from her, without her
knowledge, sufacient confirmation of her fears. Without seem-
ing to do so, she sought, with all her powers, to cure her of
her unhappy passion, and to make her sensible of the worth
and the love of her ill -appreciated Davy. This she did for
Davy's own sake, as well as for Kitty's ; as she really felt for
his generous character all the respect she was so careful to

show.

"Kitty's nature was too gentle to cherish unkind thoughts,
and she had, excepting at moments of egarement, too much
good sense to struggle against impossibilities. She soon loved
Caro' too earnestly, even, to wish to stand in the way of her
happiness; and she felt that her own rash dreams were vain
enough, when she contrasted the accomplished and beautiful
lady with the ignorant country girl.

KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 183

" And yet, all this was no panacea to her stricken heart, in
wHch all was still dark and hopeless. She had loved without
reason, and so she now grieved and despaired. At wilder mo-
ments,' she even consoled herself, in the same mad way as she
sought to beheve, that, after all, Charles might love her; that
his interest in Caro\ and hers in him, was only a terrible

dream.

"It was while suffering the feverish excitement of an illusion
of this kind, that she one day stealthily followed Caro' and
Charles, in their stroll to the Falls. Having lost sight of them
when she came to the bed of the ravine, she again sought the
fatal rock where Charles had so opportunely arrested her falter-
ing ateps. She looked, as she then stood, long and thought-
fully, into the angry waters. A strange smile stole to her lips,
and quickly passed, as she caught the sound of familiar voices,
close to her, on the other side of the rock. Caro' was speaking.
She listened with painfal intentness.

'"I tell you, Charles, the poor child loves you!' said the
lady, 'and, but for the egotism of your love for me, you would
have discovered the truth long ago !'

'"Nonsense, Caro', dear! she could not be so silly, so mad!
she has too much good sense— she loves Davy, I tell you, which
is a much more rational exploit !'

" Kitty's life— the spark, which alone was left— went out, at
these words. Had time been left her for reflection, she would
have struggled, and successfully, against the dark feelings which
now filled her wretched soul ;— but she gave only a despairing
glance at the bitter past, and at the desolate future, and, in a
moment, the sinister smile returned to her lips ; and springing,
without a cry, from the precipice, her fair form was buried
beneath the white-crested water.

" Amidst the din of the rapids, no sound of this dark deed,
which their words had hastened, came to the ears of the lovers ;

134 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

but there was an eye which, unobserved, had watched the
whole fatal scene.

" This vigilant sentinel was none other than our useful
friend Davy. He had not failed to notice the recent deplorable
change in Kitty's huniour, nor to guess the cause. Suffering
scarcely less than herself, he had seen her follow in pursuit
of Caro' and Charles, and had himself joined the chase, though
at a prudent distance. As she approached the Falls, her speed-
ing figure was alternately present and lost to his sight, as his
changing position enlarged or contracted his view. Eeaching
an overlooking bluff, he had, with terror, for a moment seen
her standing upon the scene of her former misadventure; and
his fright increased to agony when his next glimpse of the
rock showed it unoccupied. Terrible as was his interpretation
of the mystery of her sudden disappearance, he could find no
other explanation. Acting upon his fearful thought, he flew,
almost breathless with dismay, toward the fatal spot.

"Finding no trace of the fugitive, hope returned for a mo-
ment to his heart, still but faintly ; and he continued his search,
forebodingly, and minutely exploring every recess of the neigh-
bourhood. At length, he thought he saw something white
entangled in the bushes which overhung the opposite edge
of the cascade, and boldly plunging into the torrent, he secured
the object, and drew towards the shore the lifeless body of his
cherished Kitty. The unfortunate girl was cold and motionless,
her eyes open and staring. Davy, in his horror, made the
woods echo with his shouts, but without avail. At one mo-
ment, he thought that he would die with her; but the next,
fancying, as he pressed her cold form to his own throbbing
heart, and bathed her marble lips with his warm kisses, that
she still breathed, he abandoned the idea of dying, and set
vigorously to work to recall his charge to life. It was a long
time, however, before any certain hope of returning conscious-

KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 135

ness blessed his efforts. It was too far to carry lier home, if her
condition had permitted such an attempt ; so he made a swel-
tering fire, and half buried her in the warm ashes; breathing,
the while, with the full force of his strong lungs, the breath
of life into her pulseless veins. It was a joyous moment for
Davy when she at last raised her arms, and they fell upon his

neck.

u . ^liere— where am I?' were the first words she asked.
"'You are safe— safe, at last, dear Kitty. I saved you!'
" ' You, Davy— you— saved me !' said the poor girl, faintly,
and trying to recall her wandering faculties. ' Ah ! I— I re-
member-now!' and she clung more closely to her faithful

protector.

" The alarm of the good people at the cabin was extreme,
when hours passed away without any sign of the return either
of Kitty or Davy. Charles remembered to have caught a
glimpse, once or twice, of a woman, on his way to the Falls,
and though he did not remark her particularly at the time,
he now thought that she might possibly have been Kitty. He
imparted his doubts to the old woodman, and they all set off,
ill at ease, towards the ravine.

"The fears, which more than one of the party had felt,
yet dared not 'express, were realized when, passing down the
stream, they found Davy's hat, and a part of Kitty's dress,
clinging to the bushes; but their joy was without alloy when,
directly after, they heard Davy's voice, in reply to their strong
cries, and, almost at the same moment, came upon the spot
where Kitty was, slowly, yet surely recovering.

" ' Gently,' said the youth, extending his arms as a shield,
when Kitty's friends pressed closely about her ; ' gently-she's

only half alive yet.'

" The feeble girl looked the thanks she was yet unable to
speak, and, soon after, they all started homeward. Davy still

136 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

bearing his precious charge, she seemed in no need of the
assistance which Charles offered ; and Kitty, herself, declined
the service, as she smilingly pointed him to Caro'.

" A long illness followed Kitty's accident, and weeks passed
before she was able to leave her bed ; but Charles and his
friends delayed their departure until all danger was over, when
they returned to their homes, in the lowlands, "

" And Kitty and Davy," said Mr. Brownoker, as the nar-
rator paused in his story, " what became of them ? Was she
cured of her romantic passion, and did she marry the devoted
lad?"

" Precisely what I asked my host," said Mr. Flakewhite,
" when he reached that point of the tale I have told in my
own words. ' Hush !' said he to me, as his good wife was
then entering the room where we sat, 'hush — not a syllable
about the story, which you may end for yourself. There is
Kitty, and poor Davy sits by your side 1' "

I

CHAPTER TIL

" I MUST beg you, gentlemen, to take a long breath to-niglit,
for our route of travel is bringing us towards wide and adven-
turous fields. We must suppose ourselves to have made a
world of charming observation, and to have gathered thick
tomes of topographical lore, in our passage since our last meet-
ing, from the grand waters of the Terrora, through the wild
mountain region of northern Georgia, and among the frank
and hearty, yet rude people, thinly scattered over the still
desolate interior of Alabama and Mississippi ; for we are now
passing the threshold of the great West."

" And must keep a sharp eye on the alligators, and a
bright lookout for snags," added Mr. Brownoker, taking an
observation of the picture which the chairman was scruti-
nizing, as he spoke, "for here we are, in the midst of the
swamps and cane-breaks of Louisiana, and yonder roll the
waters of the mighty river, stained with the travel of a thou-
sand leagues."

" Flowing now," said Mr. Vermeille, " in our sight, as they
flowed three hundred years ago to the worshipping gaze of the
forest tribes, when the chivalrous De Soto and his hardy

138 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAK LAKDSCAPE.

companions reared above tliem the towering cross in prophecy
of their future greatness."

"Vermeille is right," continued Mr. Flakewhite, looking at
the picture of the evening, as, in passing from hand to hand,
it reached his own, "to recall the name of the gallant Span-
iard, as our eyes fall upon the glorious waters which his daring
enterprise first revealed to the world. It is an event of long,
long ago, to be sure, but yet in my frequent passages of the Mis-
sissippi, it ever comes to my thoughts in all its wild romance,
as distinctly and gratefully as if passing at the moment, and
I an actor therein. The deeds of De Soto form the poetic
period in the history of the great valley of the West ; a poetry
of fact which the most lawless fancy might seek in vain to
exceed. We talk much of the enterprise and progress of the
present day; while we are but timid snails compared with
the impetuous and indomitable spirits of three centuries back;
when Columbus resolutely grasped a world, though opposed
by the ridicule and sneers of all Christendom; when Cortes
and Pizarro conquered kingdoms and empires, and enriched
Europe by their chivalry and prowess; when great armies
flocked to the fearless standards of De Leon, De Narvaez, and
De Soto, laughing in their enthusiasm at all obstacles and
perils. The story of those days and those men, so much does
it surpass our own boasted times and achievements, seems to
us but as a tale which is told. ' It was,' says Mr. Irving, in
his Conquest of Florida, 'poetry put in action; it was the
knight-errantry of the old world carried into the depths of
the American wilderness; indeed, the personal adventures, the
feats of individual prowess, the picturesque descriptions of
steel-clad cavaliers, with lance and helm and prancing steed,
glittering through the wildernesses of Florida, Georgia, and
Alabama, and the prairies of the far West, would seem to us
mere fictions of romance, did they not come to us recorded in

THE south-west: early discoverers. 139

matter of fact narratives of contemporaries, and corroborated by
minute and daily memoranda of eye-witnesses.' How the tale
of California, wliicb our people take so much pride in rehears- '
ing, dwindles by the side of these magnificent exploits, though
their fruits did not mature so soon as our own buds of ad-
venture."

"Your last allusion," said Mr. Blueblack, "throws a heavy
shadow over the glowing picture you have displayed to our
view ; a shadow, however, which only serves to deepen its
brilliancy. I always think in sadness of the hapless fate of
the brave old Ponce De Leon, finding only an exile's grave
where he so confidently and resolutely searched for the foun-
tain of youth. Perhaps he found the fabled waters, though,
after all ; for is not the new world which he won, such an
elixir to' the decrepitude of the old nations? Then there is
the fearless Diego Miruelo, and Lucas Yasquez de Allyon, and
Pamphilo de Narvaez, and Alvar Nunez, and after them the
.rrand De Soto, mad with will and energy, breasting a hundred
crushing storms, and conquering a thousand incredible obsta-
cles in their resolute march through imknown wildernesses,
and' among treacherous and implacable foes, only to perish
miserably and alone, one after the other, in the height and
glory of their gorgeous hopes.

" What a contrast the splendid array of De Soto's army, in
all its rich apparelling, as it set forth amidst the huzzas of the
multitudes, makes with its shattered and war-gnmed aspect
some time afterwards, in its stealthy traverse of the Mississippi,
when ' the numerous and gallant host,' again using the words
of Irvine., 'had dwindled down to less than three hundred and
fifty men ; their armour once brilliant, now battered and rusty ;
their rich silken garments now reduced to rags and tatters;
some covered with skins like the native savages ; with hopes
once so buoyant, now forlorn, and despak depicted in every

140 THE EOilANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

countenance. How mournful this picture, and tliat — t"he young
and ardent De Soto, passing rich, in fortune, fame, love, and
ambition — the sorrow-stricken and broken-hearted soldier, dying
in the sunshine of his manhood, hopeless amidst the very
scenes which were to have realized his golden dreams : his
poor remains stealthily removed from one unconsecrated sepul-
chre to another, lest they should be exposed to the ignominious
vengeance of his foes ; and, at last, buried fathoms deep, in the
midnight darkness, beneath the cold floods, once to his eye
so bright with joyous promise.' "

" I am glad, gentlemen," said the chairman, at this point
of our gossip, " to hear you recall these interesting scenes,
holding as they do so high a place in both the stern reality
and the bright romance of our country's story; but we must
of necessity be brief, in this, as indeed, in all our reminiscences ;
and, it is now time that we speak of our subject in its present
aspect. Asphaltum must have become intimately acquainted
with the Mississippi, in his search for the materials of his ad-
mirable panorama; and will be obliging enough, perhaps, to
favour us with an introduction."

" Always remembering," said Mr. Brownoker, laughing,
" that the merit of a narrative does not, like that of a pano-
rama, lie in its length. ' Three miles long,' may look inviting
on his show-bills, but would be fearful at our round table!"

" K I should relate to you, gentlemen," began Mr. Asphal-
tum, "all the details of my explorations of the Mississippi,
in my slow and patient voyage from the Falls of St. Anthony
to the levee at New Orleans, you would, long before I finished,
wish that our friend De Soto had stayed quietly at home,
instead of opening the way for my wanderings ; or, that I were
peacefully sleeping with him beneath the deep waters. You
would grow wearied with the devious windings of the capricious
current, and be crazed with the mere fancy of the mosquitoes

THE MISSISSIPPI.

141

and miasmas against which I have had to battle. My journey,
which extended, winter and summer, through a whole year,
was made in an open boat, now floating lazily down the stream,
or merrily gliding among the swift rapids ; painfully urged
against an opposing current, or gallantly towed by a high
pressure steamer.

"In the course of the voyage, of three thousand miles,
from north to south— there is no other river in the world
which traverses, latitudinally, so vast an area— of course I
experienced every change of clunate, and all possible variety
of vegetation, from the airs and products of the frozen, to those
of the torrid zone; and, of course, also, I filled my portfolio
with every sort of landscape, from hilh, woods, and waterfalls,
to deep swamps and boundless prairies; and met with adven-
ture and fare as contrasted as the habits and characters of the
rough and ready frontier squatters and hunters of the one
part, and the luxurious and lazy sugar-cane growers of the

other part.

"The source of the Mississippi is in a network of innu-
merably oozy streams, looking something like the two hundred
miles of alluvium which is watered by its countless mouths.
By one or other of these streams we may reach waters which
will carry us to the Great Lakes, or, if we please, far off to

Hudson's Bay.

"Above the mouth of the Missouri, the turbid river is
comparatively clear and limpid, and its course is through an
extremely varied and beautiful country, full of picturesque
highlands and fertile valleys, skirted by a shore delightfully
broken with forest glades and rocky bluffs. Below the Falls
of St. Anthony, the navigation is but little obstructed except
by shoals and sandbars. The Missouri past, the river deepens
and widens; large islands divide the current and spread the
waters over a breadth of mHes. At Point Coupee it takes

142 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

a more commanding and majestic aspect, which it thencefor-
ward preserves and heightens.

*• Passing the mouth of the Ohio, in our descent, we see the
more southern characteristics of the landscape. The hill shores,
excepting in an occasional bluff, disappear, and the wide marshes
and the rich alluvial plains present themselves. Here rises the
gaunt form of the cypress, lord of the lagunes, and the long
festoons of the Spanish moss warn the traveller to show proper
respect to the night air.

'* East of the river, and near the margin, lie long strips of
rich land, timbered with various species of oak, hickory, sweet
gum, sassafras, poplar, cotton-wood, willow, maple, sugar-cane,
palmetto, and other trees, and shrubbery. The shore is broken
with bayous, giving the appearance, when seen from an elevation,
of a long, irregular chain of lakelets. These marshes, and the
rich tracts which lie behind them, are succeeded by ranges of
higher and more diversified ground, where the vegetation of
the pine family flourishes.

" The low and marshy character of the country continues,
with occasional variations, onward to the Gulf of Mexico ; be-
coming often an inextricable maze of earth and water ; a per-
fect Babel of wild and rank jungle and morass, and a confused
interlocking of lagune and bayou.

" These swamps resemble each other so much that strangers
sometimes lose themselves in their labyrinthine passages, and
waste days in vain search for an exit. Sir Charles Lyell
relates an adventure of a German emigrant in the Devil's
Swamp, seen from the heights south of Fort Hudson. ' One
day, after felling some lofty cypresses, he made a false turn
in his canoe, and, by mistake, entered a neighbouring bayou.
Every feature was so exactly like the scene where he had
been toiling for weeks that he could not question the identity
of the spot. He saw all the same bends, both in the larger

THE MISSISSIPPI. 143

and smaller channels ; he made out distinctly the same trees
— among others, the very individual cypresses which he had
cut down. There they stood, erect and entire, without retain-
ing one mark of his axe. He concluded that some evil spirit
had, in a single night, undone all the labours of many weeks ;
and, seized with superstitious terror, he fled from the enchanted
wood, never to return.'

" The same author to whom I am indebted for this anec-
dote, tells us of a visit he made to Lake Solitude, one of the
crescent-shaped bayous formed by old deserted bends of the
river. There is, he says, in this lake a floating island, well
wooded, on which a friend of his once landed from a canoe,
when, to his surprise, it began to sink with his weight. In
great alarm he climbed a cypress-tree, which also began imme-
diately to go down with him as fast as he ascended. He
mounted higher and higher into its boughs, until at length
it ceased to subside ; and, looking round, he saw, in every
direction, for a distance of fifty yards, the whole woods in
motion. Sir Charles, wishing to know -sv^hat foundation there
could be for so marvellous a ttxle, found that, during floods,
large floating logs had entered the lake by the channel which
at such times connects it with the main river ; that these logs
had formed a raft which had become covered with soil, sup-
porting shrubs and trees. At first, this green island was
blown from one part of the lake to another by the winds,
but a cypress springing from the soil had sent down strong
roots, many yards in length, so as to cast anchor in the muddy
bottom and thus enable the poor island to settle down in peace
and quietness.

" In some portions of this low country, especially near Atta-
kapas, there are wide tracts of floating lands, called ' quaking
prairies.' Cattle are pastured here, and you might imagine
yourself on good terra firma, unless you should happen to

144 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

dig down for a couple of feet, wlien you would find sea-fisli
quietly disporting in the subterranean waters.

" The two shores along the lower part of the river are
of very similar character, excepting that the western is more
broken with the debouchure of large streams, and less enliv-
ened by human habitations. Beyond the marshy borders stretch
alternate plains of grass and woodland — now a forest, and anon
a boundless prairie — until at last the mountains are again seen.

" Immense injury is often done to the plantations on the
Mississippi, through the breaks which occur in the embank-
ments. Valuable fields are flooded, and not unfrequently
entirely destroyed. The water rushes through such breaches
with great force, oftentimes sucking in heavy boats, and carry-
ing them miles away into dense, swampy jungles, from which
they do not always succeed in extricating themselves.

" There is not that same danger in the navigation of the
Mississippi, as in narrower southern rivers, of coming in collision
with the branches of overhanging trees, when floods swell the
current and lift the boat high above the usual level. It is
a startling eight to see the huge crafts of these waters, while
sweeping down the rushing torrent, suddenly, in fogs or dark-
ness, come in crashing contact with a forest of sturdy tree-tops.

" The wrecks of old boats and barges, left high and dry
by receding floods, are common and picturesque habitations all
along the Mississippi. In my rambles, I have often rejoiced
at the shelter and hospitality I have found even in such
homely quarters. Such occasions have served me also to im-
prove my acquaintance with that peculiar class of the denizens
of the great river, the renowned flatboatmen.

" Passing by the attractions of the gay metropolis of this
part of our country, I will set you ashore some few miles
below the city, on the memorable battle-ground of 1815."

"With so vast a theme," said Mr. Deepredde, "we could

WESTERN CHARACTER. 1^^

not have refused you treble the time you have occupied. We
often, in jest, speak of our home as a ' great country ;' but
when we speculate upon the future of this immense valley and
its tributary regions, the joke becomes most serious earnest.
The Mississippi is, I believe, the largest and longest stream
in the world, whose whole course lies within one sovereignty.
With its vassals, it drains a country of almost a million and
a half of square miles, which, when peopled even less densely
than the New England States, will hold a population of a
hundred million of souls."

"And a rare population it will be," said Mr. Megilp, "if
It preserves the honest, earnest, and dauntless traits of the
parent stock. I do not refer to the national weakness for
long rifles, quarter races, cards, whiskey, bowie-knives, and re-
volvers : these fancies are the mere froth of the strong, pure
spirit beneath, and in due time will be no more seen. The
moral exterior of the great West is at present rugged and
tough as its own bisons, but the soul within is large and
rich as its great prairies. We laugh at the extravagance of
expression in the people of the West; Urt there is a deep
moral significance in their lawless hyperbole. It is, in its
roughness, as indicative of strong action, as the dainty and
perfumed metaphor of the Orient is expressive of deep feeling

and fancy.

"You may take it for granted that a man who talks to
you about his using the forks of the road for a boot-jack, won't
submit to be kicked very patiently ; and he who whips his
weight in wild cats, and dodges chain lightning, will at least
try to accomplish what he undertakes. He who has a soul
as big as a court-house, may very safely be trusted; and there
is genuine piety in the breast of the old hunter, who economizes
time by begging every Sunday morning that Heaven will bless
'its earthly table bounties and crittur kumforts, throughout the
lb

146 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAJST LANDSCAPE.

week !' I like the veteran, who, when asked if he was not afraid
of the rattlesnakes, numerous in this vicinity, nonchalantly
answered, that he generally ' slept over 'em ;' and the gallant
captain, too, who, when racing with an opposition boat, sits on
the safety valve to keep it down vnth. his weight ; or, who,
when the watch cries out ' man overboard !' asks if he has paid
liis passage, and being answered in the affirmative, sings ' all
right — go ahead !' I do not think that such a man, who,
though he can sail his boat on a wet blanket, or in the morn-
ing dew, would hesitate to launch out into deep waters!"

" As Megilp is himself a "Western man," said Mr. Blueblack,
" we must give him elbow-room, even to find a virtue in the
follies of his brethren. Perhaps he will commend us next to
the universal predilection of his people for betting and gam-
bling."

"In a measure," answered our young Lochinvar, " though
the vice belongs more to strangers among us, than to ourselves.
If it is an evil, as abstractly considered it of course is, it is at
present a necessary evil, necessary by reason of the fermenta-
tion stage of our society. In its practical results it is not
Avithout its advantage, just now, saving us as it does from yet
greater misfortune. Many a dispute is now amicably deter-
mined by a bet, which would otherwise end in blows, and
we are so undisguised in the expression of our thoughts, that
we must dispute; so resolute is our nature, that we must main-
tain our position ; tlms, settled it must be, in some way or
other."

" Leaving Megilp's logic for further consideration," said Mr.
Brownoker, " permit me to add a word here, of fact, not phi-
losophy. I have, in my travels westward, been often amused
at the universal love for betting. I have found even children
of the tenderest years addicted to the practice. A boy no
sooner gets a sixpence, than he must risk it upon some venture

WESTERN CHARACTER. 147

or otlier. If nothing else offers, he will bet you that he knows
the name of the steamboat approaching from below, or, that
he can tell Avhich way the wind -svill blow to-morrow, or per-
chance, next week; and, it is a common practice for a group
to sit quietly around a table, each with a lump of sugar before
him, the possession of the stake to be given to him on whose
lump a fly may first happen to alight !

"A friend of mine, once showed me a graphic sketch of
an old trapper instructing his child in the use of cards. The
precious pair were seated on a bank in the vicinity of a church,
the hour, evidently, Sunday morning; and the name of his
picture w^as — ' A Western Sabbath School !' "

"All these anecdotes," said Mr. Deepredde, "are charac-
teristic only of a portion, and that the humblest, of the Western
people. The better classes are as free from such provincial-
isms, as the most generous education and the most refined as-
sociations can make them. More especially, the inhabitants of
the South-west ; the region to which our thoughts to-night must
be chiefly directed."

"Suppose," said Mr. Blueblack, "some gentleman tells us
a story in further illustration of our subject: some tale touch-
ing upon plantation life and manners. Now I think of it, I
have heard Vermeille speak of certain incidents of the sort
which I should like much to hear again, and more circum-
stantially."

Mr. Vermeille, upon this hint, and at the entreaties of the
whole company, told the following story of

148 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

Mttu gall

" I can imagine nothing more grateful, to one who appre-
ciates the quiet pleasures of social life in a genial domestic
circle, cast, by its isolation from the great world, upon its own
willing and sufficient resources, than a leisurely sojourn at the
home of one of our Southern planters. Especially when your
host happens to be a man of large wealth, large soul, large
intelligence, large family, large fields, and large house, as are
many of the class — as is he, at least, whom we are about to
visit.

" If you can sufficiently withstand the enervating influence
of a Southern sun to make the necessary effiort, run — no, stroll,
we never run, here — to the crown of that sandy knoll, covered
with shady pines, and you shall overlook a pleasant bit of
Southern landscape. The great savannas sweeping far around
you, their rich many-hued carpetings of grain, and grass, and
flowers, stirring lightly in the gentle morning breeze, will long
win 3'-our admiring gaze, before it wanders yet further on,
towards the forests of the sugar-cane, skirting the inextricable
winding of the great lazy river — the venerable father of waters.
"What a winsome sentiment of repose and comfort, ease, and
content, its broad, lawless course, seemingly without beginning
and without end, brings to the heart ; and, how pleasantly this
feeling is at once heightened and relieved by the bold bluffs
here and there on the shore, where some rampant eastern range
of hills abruptly stops, as if suddenly conscious of its trespass
upon strange and enchanted ground ! Yonder, the fringed
cypress grows from the moisture of the dark and dank lagunes,
and, there, among the orange groves and the massy clumps

MISTLETOE HALL. 149

of the live-oak, peep the roof and the latticed piazzas of the
planter's home, with its innumerable surrounding of smaller
buildings — the cabins of the negroes. So many are their houses,
that, but for the tropical vegetation and the soft airs, you
might almost fancy yourself gazing from the top of Mount
Tom, over the village-studded meadows of the valley of the
Connecticut.

" If distance, here, lends enchantment to the view, nearness
you will find, as you descend from your height and wander
through the riant plains, increases that enchantment. The
myriad charming details of the scene will fill your heart not
less agreeably than the broad general view. The solo of the
merry bird in yonder myrtle tree, is as sweet as the vague
murmur of music through the air ; and the snowy-plumed
cotton-twig, the gallant cane-stalk, the courtly rice plant, the
broad leaf of the tobacco, the waxen boughs of the orange,
the myrtle, the magnolia, and the thousand flowers, and vines
redolent with seductive perfumes, wiU each, in turn, of itself
satisfy your thirst for the beautiful. It will surprise you to
find so much eager life beneath so listless an exterior.

" Entering the broad avenues of live-oak, which so fre-
quently make the approach to Southern houses, and at last
resting your tired limbs on the easy lounges of their piazzas
and parlours, you will revel still in the same feeling of quiet,
yet by no means torpid life.

" The picture upon which we have been looking from the
sand-hills — the flowery lawns which we have traversed, the
oak shades, the rambling mansion, and its cosy couches — ^ia
not a mere idle fancy, but an actual scene, none other than the
plantation and homestead of Mistletoe Hall, the residence of
Colonel Hayward, our host elect.

" You will feel, at once, how very happy is the poetic
name of the venerable seat, as your eye detects the luxuriant

150 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

clusters of that impudent squatter, the mistletoe, peeping every-
where from amongst the autumn-thinned leaves of the numer-
ous oaks. One of these trees, you will curiously observe, is
distinguished above all its fellows, not only by its massive size
and noble form, but by the extraordinary quantity of the
famous Christmas bough, to which its generous life gives nou-
rishment ; and which, in grateful return, drapes it, when its
own leaves pass with the passing season, in a new and richer
garniture of green; thus making the old tree an oak for half
the year, and a mistletoe for the rest. There is an old custom
in the family here, one in which the Colonel delights no less
than the youngest of his tribe, of semi-annually re-christening
this old fellow— in the spring with one baptismal, and in the
autumn with the other ; now ' the oak,' now ' the mistletoe.'
This pleasant ceremony is always performed with every proper
holiday accompaniment of the mazy dance and other merry-
making.

" Now, then — for, despite the early morning and the breeze,

you have walked far enough to make rest welcome — we will

enter the mansion, especially since that little ebony troop of

laughing urchins have already announced our approach, and

the worthy Colonel himself has come forth upon the piazza

to welcome us. Of course, we will revise our toilettes, and,

as the Colonel begs us to do, sit down, without ceremony,

at his hospitable table. Ah, what an abundant repast, to be

sure, is spread upon the board; and with what rational leisure

the good folks are discussing it! The peacock fans of the

little black waiters make the temperature as grateful as the

broad shadow of the rose-covered porch. We are at home

at once, and feel quite as much at liberty to think and act

as we please, as if we were in our own house. So, while we

eat our eggs and hominy, we will take a quiet survey of

our host and our fellow-guests.

MISTLETOE HALL. 151

" The Colonel — where he gets his title we do not know ;
such things are as plentiful here as ' something to drink ' —
the Colonel is in all respects a fine specimen of the Southern
■ gentleman. His gallant person — he is still in the blossom of
strong manhood — has been developed by habitual indulgence
in out-of-door exercise and all manly sports ; and his acute
mind has been cultured and catholicized by liberal studies,
and by observant travel in all lands and among all people ;
while his generous heart has been warmed and expanded, not
chilled and narrowed, by the possession of wealth and power.
His wide and absolute authority he wields, even over the
humblest of his slaves, more as a kind father than as a des-
potic lord. The native fire of his character has been tempered,
not extinguished, by sorrowful experiences of life : among these
griefs is, no doubt, the loss of his wife — the Colonel is a
widower — whom he devotedly loved ; while another of these
gentle softeners of the heart is his boundless affection for his
daughter, the pride of his soul. And well, indeed, may he
be proud of her ; for a more beautiful creature, even among
the queenly maidens of the South, it would be rare to find
than Clara Hayward.

"Deprived of a mother's care, even in infancy; petted and
indulged by her fond father ; the sovereign mistress of a thou-
sand submissive hearts ; flattered, as beauty and wealth always
are, by every voice they hear ; Clara might have grown up
a spoiled, heartless, vain, imperious woman, without any blame
to herself "Whether these very reasonable results from such
a dangerous position followed, in the present instance, we shall
see in the development of our story. Certainly, nothing but
what is lovely and of good report appears in her gracious
greeting to our intrusive selves, as we sit down to breakfast ;
or in her kindly manner towards any of her numerous guests ;
or towards the slaves, who seem so happy to anticipate and

152 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

perform her will. She treats all, and the characters are various,
with graceful and considerate attention and care.

" If she has a feeling of dislike for any one, she seeks,
and successfully, to conquer it, as beneath the dignity of her
nature.

" Thus, in the impartial share of her regard which she
bestows upon Madam Bernard, the bold, handsome French
woman by her side, you cannot suspect the little quantum
of love and sympathy which she really feels for her. Madam
is, or rather has been, her governess. She has taught much
which Clara has well and gratefully learned ; and much, too,
which she has wisely used as a beacon, instead of a guide, to
her steps.

" With what becoming grace, and yet with what womanly
propriety, she listens to the flattering tattle of that supercilious
young patrician, Lieutenant Hutton. She is by no means blind
to the real poverty, mental and moral, beneath his smooth
coat of virtue and wisdom ; and she has wit enough to sound
this shallowness of his, were she not too proud or too kind
to use it. The Lieutenant is one of those lucky gentlemen
'known, because his fathers were,' and possessing, besides,
with the pass-key of fortune, the entree of ' society.' He has
used these advantages now, in a long visit to our host, avow-
edly attracted by the graces of the fair hostess. His horoscope
is not promising.

"Long association, and long relationship, as teacher and
pupil, may exact a certain degree of respect and deference
from Clara to Madam Bernard: as the social position and not
unpleasing manners of the young Lieutenant may naturally
give him a claim to her cordial courtesy. But none of these
demands upon her consideration are made by the last of our
characters, who is neither a Colonel nor a Lieutenant ; who has
neither family nor fortune to commend him, and who is not

MISTLETOE HALL. 153

even a privileged dej)endant, but simply a poor, unknown stu-
dent, who, through the Colonel, has been prevailed upon to
leave his college halls in New England, to earn means by the
toil of a tutor to pursue and complete his preparation for the
struggle of life. And yet Clara is, if possible, more regardful
of the humble student than of others, though not with the
galling kindness of the patroness, for he is not one to be
patronized. The Colonel, who, though not free from the pre-
judice and pride of caste, is a wise and just man, sees and
acknowledges the worth of his modest guest, and meets him
on an equal footing of gentleman with gentleman. Madam
Bernard's respect for the tutor is not extreme ; and she would
not, if she dared, hesitate to say so. As to the Lieutenant,
he has not, thus far, deigned to recognize the stranger's exist-
ence, who, to tell the truth, has himself wasted no reverence
in admiration on the Lieutenant.

" The tutor, himself, is perfectly at his ease ; and, though
modest enough in his demeanour, has the self-assured bearing
of a man certain of his position, and perfectly satisfied of its
dignity. To the Colonel's eye, this simple manner is an evi-
dence of a strong, manly character ; to Madam Bernard's, of
mixed servility and arrogance ; to the Lieutenant's, as far as
he has observed it, of unbearable impertinence ; to Clara's, of
a gentleman, with more esteem for his own honourable self
than for the adventitious apparrelling of rank and fortune,

" I do not mean to say that Miss Clara is waiting to throw
her hand and heart at the tutor's feet, for she is not without
both pride and ambition ; or, that the Colonel would approve
of such Quixotic generosity, for he has his ideas of propriety
in such matters, despite his respect for the stranger. Besides,
such a thing could not be, since it would kill the Lieutenant
outright, with astonishment, if a broken heart should yet leave
him alive. Moreover, Clara's hand, not counting the suit of

154 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the Lieutenant, is already engaged. Don't understand me to
say that my heroine would give her hand, any where, without
her heart. By no means! Her position is simply this: Colonel
Hayward has a friend in Virginia, the widow of an old college
crony, who has an only son, as the Colonel himself has an
only daughter ; and it has ever been a favourite project of
the heads of the two families, to cement their interests by a
union between this son and this daughter; to say nothing of
a whispered penchant between the 'heads' themselves, which,
it is thought, may come to something, if the first plan shall
prove successful. It will be nice if both the schemes prosper,
for Mrs. Danville and her son Mark possess large estates, con-
tiguous to the Colonel's domain, and the Colonel could keep
a much better eye than he even now does upon these estates,
were they ' all in the family.'

"You may ask what Miss Clara and 'young massa Mark'
say to this arbitrary disposition. The truth is, the arrange-
ment has been always seduously kept from their knowledge,
but somehow they have both got at the secret, until it is, at
this moment, openly and often spoken of, and that, too, as a
fixed fact.

" The young people, to this day, know nothing of each
other, excepting by report ; and, though they say nothing —
Clara at least, and no doubt Master Mark as well — they are
inwardly resolved to dislike, in the precise ratio in which
they are expected to like, each other."

Here, Mr. Yermeille was interrupted in his narrative by
the chairman, who, looking regretfully at his watch, reminded
our guests of an engagement, which made it necessary to defer
the rest of the tale until another reunion.

More than one desire was expressed to cheat old Time of

MISTLETOE HALL. 155

a few more minutes, but they were all overruled, and tlic
historian himself said that he should be glad of a reprieve.

In our next chapter then, good reader, we shall see what
further happens at Mistletoe Hall.

Is

CHAPTER YIII.

"While unfolding my panorama of tlie Mississippi at our
last reunion," said Mr. Asphaltum, "I oddly enougli forgot to
speak of that remarkable feature in tlie scenery of tbe river,
the renowned Tower Eock, or Grand Tower, as it is otherwise
called. To neglect all reference to tliis interesting object, would
be unpardonable in any circumstances, and doubly so, when,
as I find that it does, it makes the theme of one of our pic-
tures.

" Though I know that you are impatient to hear the sequel

of Mr. Vermeille's nouvellette, I must beg a few minutes to
atone for my sins of omission.

" The Grand Tower is a singular, rocky bluff of about fifty
feet elevation. It stands near the village of Cape Girardeau,
and is a short distance, say a hundred miles— a step only, you
know, on the great river— below the mouth of the Missouri.
The hills on both sides of the stream seem to converge in this
vicinage ; and from the appearance of other huge mural frag-
ments^ it is supposed that a cataract once existed here. In
form 'the Great Rock is nearly circular, bearing a few stunted
cedars upon its crown. Of course, a change in the point of

158 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

observation varies tlie aspect of tlie scene greatly; and most
visitors will view it very differently from our artist. Perclied
upon its lofty heiglits, I have often gazed in delight upon the
extraordinary picture before my wondering eyes. The mazy
windings of the giant floods, sometimes in their magnificent
detours, traversing miles upon miles without perceptible ad-
vance, the huge steamers sweeping on in their rapid and noisy
flight, the lazy progress of the floating rafts and the uncouth
flat-boats; and^ reaching far away in the interminable distance,
the rank forests and the silent prairies."

After this mention of Tower Eock and sundry other rem-
iniscences which the subject called up, but which we shall not
pause to record, our guests prepared themselves to hear the
conclusion of the tale of

MtUt PalL

" Many weeks have passed since our introduction to Colonel
Hayward's family," said Mr. Yermeille, resuming his narrative,
"weeks not barren of incident, claiming our attention. One
of these items is the non-appearance of Mr. Mark Danville,
much to the surprise of everybody, and to the disappointment,
at least, of one. Not Clara, for she, we shall find, has grown
every day less and less interested in the doings of the expected
visitor ; not the Lieutenant, for he can live and be happy
without him; not Madam Bernard, for she has nothing either
to hope or fear in his coming; not the tutor, since Mr. Dan-
ville's absence rather furthers his views than otherwise; but
the Colonel— the worthy Colonel, is grievously vexed at the
little respect which Mr. Mark shows toward himself and his
daughter. He begins to fear that his long-cherished plans will

MISTLETOE HALL. 159

after all end in nothing. He is greatly disappointed, and sorely
chagrined. He begins to dislike the ungracious Mark, and he
thinks, too, with a sigh of that proposed tie between himself
and Madam Danville, which must fail with the failure of his
other hope. Besides these thoughts, there are other, very
natural, though less worthy ideas, annoying the Colonel's brain.
He is thinking of heavy pecuniary losses which he has had
to struggle against for some time past, and particularly, within
the last few weeks; the repeated failure of crops for several
years, and more lately, sickness and death among his servants,
and injury to his estate by rains and freshets ; an accumulation
of losses which are beginning seriously to embarrass him, and
which make him regret the withdrawal of the relief which
Clara's marriage with Mark, no less than his own with Mrs.
Danville, would have brought him.

"Neither the Lieutenant nor Madam Bernard have much
sympathy for the Colonel's sorrows, despite their show of
interest. Indeed, we cannot expect that Hutton, being himself
an aspirant for Clara's hand, should be over and above eager
to meet so formidable a rival as Mr. Mark.

"The tutor has gradually grown to be a man of weight
and influence in the daily, social drama, having won for him-
self much consideration, of a differing sort, from all the mem-
bers of the household.

"The regard with which Clara treats him seems to be that
which he the most highly prizes. However that may be, it is,
clearly enough, more than reciprocated. In his hours of leisure
he is ever by her side, as they sit together in the shade
of the perfumed vines, sipping the sparkling current of some
'antique rhyme;' or, as they stroll in hght or ' idyl-thoughted '
converse through the oak and orange groves, in the merry
morning or the dreamy eventide. Even when occupied with
his pupils, Clara is still often near him, finding charms in

160 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

Virgil which Madam Bernard never showed her in the pages
of Tasso or Eacine. Indeed, she seemed to be herself his
chief, certainly his favourite, pupil. ' How pleasant,' his thought
appears to say at such moments, ' the ofSce of the tutor, when
the student comes with intelligence and sympathy to the task;'
' and how delightful,' says she, ' the labour of the pupil, when
the teacher bears her up on the soaring wings of his own
enthusiasm.' It is not strange that our scholar should thus
yield to the fascinations which he finds in the strong and
beautiful character of his fair hostess, or that she should be
attracted by a nature so much deeper and richer than she has
been accustomed to meet, and so sympathetic with her own.
Their intercourse, in its simple unreserve, seems to be more
that of brother and sister than of lovers. There can be no
confessed passion in their young hearts, or dark thoughts of
the future would sometimes overcloud the unbroken sunshine
of the present hour. Their heedless steps would now and
then halt, in doubt or fear, on the now unseen brink of that
deep social gulf '-which lies between them, and which neither
could overleap without a sacrifice of much pride and preju-
dice.

" The Colonel sees that his child is happy in the society
of his young friend, and he is content, never dreaming that
their mutual interest may pass the convenient bounds of friend-
ship; or, if he has at moments such thoughts, burying them
far out of his sight in the shadow of that inexorable gulf
into which we have but just now looked. The Lieutenant,
too, is not unobservant of the path in which the careless pair
are strolling, and he is not so blind as the Colonel in regard
to its course: but he sees, yet more distinctly than he, the
obstructing precipice ; and he, too, is, in a measure, content —
more than content, indeed — for, little understanding Clara's high
nature, he inwardly derides the idea of a rival in the poor

MISTLETOE HALL. 161

tutor, while lie thinks to turn his presumption and Clara's
indulgence to the furtherance of his own hopes, widening by
their help the misunderstanding which already seems to have
been formed between her and the only obstacle he sees in his
wa}-— Mr. Mark Danville.

"Still, the undisguised preference which Clara shows for the
tutor's society over his own, is a bitter mortification to the
pride of the Lieutenant— a mortification which, every passing
day, IS m many little ways so sorely deepening, that there is
growing up in his soul a feeling of revengeful hatred which,
much as it is his cue to do, he can scarcely all conceal.

"This dislike is only increased by the lamentable issue of
the few manifestations of it, which, despite himself, he is con-
strained to make. Every hour and every incident teaches him
greater hate and higher respect for the student— teaches him
more and more how much he has under-estimated the strength,
and how much he may have to fear in the rivalry, of his
despised foe. He finds himself surpassed by the modest tutor,
not alone in accomplishments which he affects to despise, but
in all those gentlemanly graces in which he deems himself
without a peer. He might forgive the student for writing
songs, but it is a mortal offence to sing them as he does. He
would permit him to walk, but not to ride by Clara's side,
with so much careless ease : to admire the beauty of the flying
deer is pardonable, but to arrest that flight with an aim more
certain than his own is insufferable! What business has the
man of lexicons and grammars with these arts of the idle
gentleman ?

"Clara does not fail to perceive the vexation of 'her guest
at the ever new exhibition of gifts, which surprise her scarcely
less than him; for she, too, is still advancing in her knowl-
edge of the tutor's varied accomplishments, though with more
satisfaction than the Lieutenant. It amuses her to watch the

162 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

Struggle between these opposing powers: to witness the imper-
tinent sneers of the one withered by the cool sarcasm of the
other.

"She shares the student's playful malice, as, when Hutton
rudely intrudes upon their t^te-a-tetes, he leads the conversation
into fields far beyond his pursuit or sight.

"Such a scene is now passing, and the tutor is brought
back from his metaphysical flight by the entrance of one of
his pupils in search of light upon some dark problem in his
algebra. As the lad withdraws, the Lieutenant sneeringly in-
quires if the tutor uses the birch in his school discipline.
" ' Most assuredly, sir, when it happens to be needed.'
" ' On the little boys, I suppose,' continues the Lieutenant.
"'Or the great boobies!' answers the tutor, with a quiet
but significant smile.

"'You see,' says Clara, laughing, 'what a sad martinet our
friend is, Mr. Hutton! How fortunate you ought to esteem
yourself in not being one of his unhappy scholars !'

"Now the Colonel's family are assisting in the gaieties of
a ball at the residence of a neighbouring planter. ' Here,'
thinks the Lieutenant, as he approaches Clara to solicit her
hand for a waltz, 'here, at least, I am secure from the impu-
dence of that infernal pedagogue! His legs are too much
cramped beneath his desk to figure in the dance!' But, alas!
alas for the gallant soldier's vain dreams, the inexorable tutor
has already cast his arm around the fair girl, and is whirling
her through the hall, to the admiration and marvel of every-
body but the Lieutenant himself He turns on his heel in
disgust and through the rest of the evening ' doesn't dawnce !'
"It is one of the brightest of bright sunny mornings, and
the party. Madam Bernard and the Lieutenant, Clara and the
tutor, are starting for a ride. Hutton has distributed the horses
among the cavaliers, and the tutor is about to mount, when

MISTLETOE HALL. 163

Clara protests against his venturing upon the back of the most
unmanageable creature in her father's stables.

" * How could you think of giving any one such an animal,
Mr. Hutton ?' she asks, half angrily.

" ' Oh !' says the Lieutenant, with a sneering laugh, ' I sup-
posed that Mr. Lawson was bold and skilful enough to tame
a bison if it so pleased him. But, of course I will find a gen-
tler nag for him, if he is afraid V

'"Not at all,' cries the student, as he springs gracefully
into the saddle. 'You have hit my fancy exactly, Mr. Hut-
ton; I've noticed this fiery fellow often, and thought that I

should like to try his mettle. I '

"But yonder fly horse and rider, helter-skelter over bush
and break, while the ladies look after them pale with fear.
Which of the unyielding spirits shall conquer? For a while
the question is a painfully exciting one ; but, at last, it is an-
swered, and Clara laughs at once in derision of the Lieutenant
and in welcome of the tutor, as he returns with his foaming
but conquered steed.

" Not quite subdued though, for as he draws near he makes
a sudden plunge, frightening the Lieutenant's horse and dash-
ing the rider from his carelessly held seat.

"This, however, is his last caper; and Mr. Lawson, as he
leaps to the ground, with proffers of aid to the unhorsed gen-
tleman, makes a world of apologies for his unpardonable awk-
wardness, which he assures him cannot possibly happen again,
as he has now got the perverse animal entirely under his

control !

"The party, remounted, now move on, while the tutor is
patting his trembling horse, and still condemning his own
want of skill, which led to the late little misadventure ; while
the Lieutenant is trying to swallow his double mortification
as best he can ; and while Madam Bernard, scarcely less than

164 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE-

Clara, is vainly striving to liide a laughing face with a deco-
rous veil of gravity.

" But let us see how our young hero gets along with the
Colonel ; see if his character and his versatile accomplishments
have made him a personage of as much importance and influ-
ence with the host, as with the daughter and the guests. So
it certainly seems to be, judging from the long and animated
dialogues they so frequently hold together — from the earnest
conversation now going on between them, as they stroll yonder
over the narrow dikes of the rice-fields,

" The Colonel admires the gifts of the scholar and the
graces of the gentleman, and these attractions have not failed
to draw him toward our hero, but certain other merits, which
neither Clara nor the Lieutenant have observed, have yet more
won his confidence. The Colonel has found in his tutor an
unlooked-for, and most welcome sympathy, in his views and
habits of life, and a strange knowledge and interest, practical,
no less than theoretical, in all his business occupations. He
has found him thoughtful and just in his views of the social
and political condition and prospects of his cherished home;
and as judiciously learned in the whole subject of his agricul-
tural operations, as though he had spent his life in such studies.
Thus it is not surprising that the Colonel has given the tutor
his esteem and confidence, even so far as to seek his sjonpathy
and counsel in the difiiculties in which, as we have hinted,
his pecuniary embarrassments were involving him. It is such
confidences that have elicited the dialogue in which they are
at this moment engaged. Let us see what it is all about.

"'And so,' says the student, thoughtfully, 'you have had
recourse to the assistance of Mr. Hutton, which he has urged
upon your acceptance ?'

" ' With all the generous warmth of a true friend. He
has his faults, my dear sir, no doubt. But he is interested in

MISTLETOE HALL. 165

ray fortunes, even at the expense of his own. I owe this
somewhat, of course, to his love for my daughter, which you
cannot have failed to observe ; though, poor fellow, there is
but little hope for him. Clara does not fancy him much.'

" ' And he holds your notes, at sight, too, for all these
heavy sums?' persisted Mr. Lawson, as though turning a tough
problem over in his perplexed thoughts. 'Have you no fear
of his some day troubling you with them ?'

" * Oh, dear, no ! not the least. You wrong him. He is not
that sort of man at all. It is a mere matter of form between
us — the notes. "With prosperous crops, I shall be at ease again
in another year, and if not — why — it will only increase my
obligation, which will be a pleasure, more than a disappoint-
ment to him.'

" So the tutor seemed to think, but he says, ' Perhaps there
is no danger; but why, if you will permit me to ask, have
you not rather called upon your dearer friends, of whom I
have heard so much, the Danvilles?'

'•' * I thank you for the spirit which prompts your question,
but I must beg that you will not again allude to such a
thought. Once, indeed, it might have been different, but now,
they are the last to whom I would turn. They, who the mo-
ment adversity comes upon me, desert me !'

" ' Desert you?'

" ' Yes : what is it, but my failing fortunes, which keeps
the young Danville from hastening to fulfil the contract be-
tween our families, or, at least, of making the visit he promised
us?'

" ' Your troubles make you unjust, my dear Colonel. This
cannot be — there may be many reasons.'

" * Not so ! Lieutenant Hutton '

" ' The Lieutenant again ! '

166 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" ' Has more than once hinted as much, and he corresponds
with young Mark, though he has never met him,'

" ' Yes, I know,' said the tutor, with a smile, quite incom-
prehensible to the good Colonel.

" ' How should you know ?'

" ' Pardon me, no matter — and so Mr. Hutton thinks that
Mrs. Danville and her son shun you on account of your mis-
fortunes? Where have they obtained their information?'

" ' That I cannot imagine, unless it be through your friend,
their overseer. This seems to be Hutton's idea.'

" ' I think he is mistaken. However, such intelligence tra-
vels on the air without visible carriers.'

" ' It has reached their ears at any rate, and the Lieutenant
has half hinted to me, that young Danville has said that I am
seeking to pass a dowerless bride upon him as an heiress !
You will not wonder now, why I do not ask aid from the
Danvilles.'

" ' This is growing serious,' said Mr. Lawson, as he knit
his brows and clenched his hands angrily, ' and the scoundrel
shall pay for it !'

" ' Nay, nay, my friend : I do not know why I have told
you all this, but I do know, that I cannot suffer you to share
my quarrel with Danville, should you happen to meet.'

" ' Danville ! Oh, you mistake ! It is not he of whom I
am thinking.'

" ' My only consolation,' continues the Colonel, not notic-
ing the musing air of his companion, ' is in the love of my
daughter, who does not know, as I trust she never will know,

aught of these things, and in the counsel and sympathy of '

" ' Your humble friend.'

" ' That is much to me,' says the Colonel, warmly pressing
the tutor's hand, 'but I referred to Madam Bernard.'

MISTLETOE HALL. 167

" ' Ab, Madam Bernard ! and does she tliink of the Dan-
villes as the Lieutenant does?'

" * On the contrary, she hopes that he is wrong.'

" ' Ah ! she hopes P

" ' I do not understand your incredulous manner,' says the
Colonel, with an inquiring look.

" ' Pardon me, dear sir, if I allude to matters of a delicate
nature. Have I not heard that you may, possibly, give your
hand to Mrs. Danville, should your daughter wed her son?'

" * Such, indeed, was once my thought.'

" 'And, never, while Miss Hay ward shall remain unmarried?'

" * Never ! that I have vowed.'

" ' And would Madam Bernard rejoice to see your hopes
fulfilled ? "Would there be no personal disappointment ?
Would '

" ' No more, my dear friend, in this vein. If, as you hint,
Madam Bernard has so much honoured me, she will not seek
the accomplishment of her wishes by any false means. If she
would, she would second, not contradict, the suspicions of the
Lieutenant.'

" ' Well, well, my dear Colonel. I have nothing ungallant
to say of Madam, whom, indeed, I know only as a very
acTeeable woman ; but I warn you against Lieutenant Hutton,
I cannot think him so much your friend as he would seem !'
" * You are prejudiced — ^unjustly prejudiced.'
" ' So, indeed, I may be, so I hope I am ;' says the tutor,
suddenly remembering that any censure of Hutton, from his
lips, may be placed to wrong motives ; ' so I hope I am ;' and
here, where the road forks, he bids adieu to the Colonel, say-
ing to himself as he walks away : —

" * Well, well ! this is a pretty mess I am brewing ; but I
must even let it ferment, that I may see what spirits, good
and bad, come from it! But of a certainty this Lieutenant is

168 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

a precious villain ; and I would not swear that Madam is
immaculate. Neither of them will, I fear, come out of the
trial unscathed. But Clara ! she, at least, is all truth and
goodness ! Even should she not love the poor tutor enough
to sacrifice for him all the pride and vanity she would sur-
render with her hand, yet will I, at least, save her from that
scoundrel Hutton ! He shall be unmasked, before I leave
him!'

" Thus musing, he wanders on towards the house of Mr.
Granger, the overseer of the Danville estates. He does not
proceed far, before his ear catches the sound of familiar voices,
coming, as it seems to him, from the recesses of a jasmine
arbour near by. Thinking himself at liberty, under the cir-
cumstances, to play even the doubtful part of spy, he cautiously
approaches the bower, and quietly putting aside the branches,
is not surprised to see the Lieutenant and Clara's favourite
maid, Pricilla, or 'Cilia, as she is generally called. He is
curious to learn the purport of this conference, and well
screened as he is by the thick leafage, no less than by the
oTowing dusk of evening, he ventures to pause a moment
and listen. The Lieutenant is speaking with impatient and
vexed voice.

" ' So so, then ! in ridding ourselves of this impudent
young sultan, who fancies that he has but to come and throw
down his imperial handkerchief when he pleases, to set the
world in a struggle as to who shall have the honour of pick-
ing it up — in getting rid, I say, of Danville, we have but fallen
into another difl&culty!'

" ' And a much greater one, too, let me tell you,' says
'Cilia. 'Miss doesn't care a picayune for Massa Danville, and
wouldn't have had him if he had asked her ever so sweet!'

" ' And you think that she loves this itinerant pedagogue —
this Mr. Lawson ! bah ! you're a fool !'

MISTLETOE HALL. 169

(( I

Maybe, I am,' says the girl, witli a sneering laugh — i

' as I was Avhen I listened to your fine talk !'

" ' Pooh ! don't vex me ! What makes you think so, you ,

little fool ?'

" ' Why, are they not always together ? Do they not ride,
read, sing, walk, talk together, all day long, from morning till
night?' '

" ' Oh, that is only to spite me ! She is too proud ever I

to think of marrying such a fellow!' I

" ' Spite you, indeed ! Mighty little, to be sure, she thinks i

of you ! And it is to spite you, I suppose, that she is always
thinking of him, and talking about him in her sleep. Too
proud ! Yes, she is too proud not to please herself, whatever
you or anybody else rnay say or think. So proud is Miss
Clara, that she would marry the man she loves, though all '

the Avorld should laugh at her, and though she had to work
with her own white hands, hard as any nigger on the planta-
tion,'

" ' Umph,' says the Lieutenant to himself; 'that's not much! '

None of the knaves hurt themselves with labour ! I should
like to see them turned free for a while in the streets of Phila-
delphia or Boston, where, I warrant, they would earn more
kicks than coppers.' Then, tui'ning again to the girl, —

" ' Have you done as I told you, and been seen with him
often ?'

" ' Yes, I have.' '

" 'And does she suspect?' |

'"0, ho ! that's it, aye ? That's why you wanted me to 1

run after Master Lawson so much ! I thought there was some
mischief or other at the bottom of the mystery !' says 'Cilia,
laughing outright at the new idea which possesses her. ' So ■>

you want to make her jealous? Miss Clara jealous of 'Cilia! i

he, he, he !' \

170 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" ' Stop your folly !' cries Hutton, striking the girl in liis
fury, so that she screams with pain.

" ' You kill me, you brute ! — kill me, when you should love
me best !'

" ' It is not I who have loved you too well ! Do you
understand, girl? It will be bad for you, let me tell you,
if you do not !'

"As the poor girl's eyes gleam with resentfid passion the
man tempers his auger, and tries to speak in a gentler tone:
to win her, when something tells him it will not be quite
safe to command. This new tone is more successful, for she
seems still to love, while she half despises, her unfeeling be-
trayer. As the tryst seems to be ending, when 'Cilia reluctantly
promises to do his bidding, the tutor makes a hasty but cautious
retreat, and continues his walk towards the overseer's.

" For a while his thoughts are wholly and happily occupied
with the grateful proofs which 'Cilia's words have given him
of Clara's love, and his fancy runs through a thousand gay
imaginings. But a graver spirit seizes him, and he mutters
as he walks —

" ' Things are indeed taking a serious aspect ! I may be
able to refute the calumnies against Danville, but as to the
poor, friendless tutor, that is another affair. I must look to
this girl ! She evidently still loves this scoundrel, despite his
cruel treatment of her; but it is as clear, too, that she is not
wholly depraved, and may be used to punish, instead of to aid,
his villainy. What will come next, I wonder! Truly I am
getting to be a veritable Asmodeus, peeping into the hidden
secrets of this family, so quiet to all outward appearance, and
yet so turbulent within !'

"His soliloquy is now interrupted by the sound of approach-
ing steps, and, looking up, he meets the eye of Mr. Granger,
the Danville overseer, the very man of whom he is in quest.

MISTLETOE HALL. 171

"They talk together, long and gravely, but in a voice too
low for our ears, even did it concern us to know the nature
of their communications. As they are about to separate, the
tutor still detains his friend, to tell him of the colloquy under
the jasmine vines.

"'Umph!' says the overseer; 'this is very bad! We must
be careful, or we shall get into a snarl from which it will
be rather difficult to extricate ourselves. Indeed, I am half
sorry that we have ventured at all in the

'"No fear, my good friend !' says the tutor gaily. ' All

will end well !'

'"Yes, there is great fearl What if you should lose the
confidence' of the Colonel 1 Then Button's influence will be
without a check, and others besides yourself may suffer.'

" ' That is very true ; but, at the worst, I can tell him all V
" ' Too late, perhaps !'

'"Too soon, at present, anyhow,' says the tutor hopefully.
'"But be cautious,' urges the doubting overseer; 'you have
wily and imscrupulous foes to deal with.'
'"What, 'Cilia?'

""Cilia! pooh! Hutton and the governess!'
"'You are persuaded, then, that Madam Bernard is con-
cerned in the matter?'

'"Certainly! Does she not seek the hand of the Colonel,
and will she not be glad of any means to break off, or to
delay the affair with Mrs. Danville?'

'"True; but not that with the son, poor Mark. On the
contrary, it' is her cue to dispose of Miss Clara to somebody,
since it' is well known that the Colonel will never marry
before his daughter.'

" ' Of course. But that somebody is neither Danville nor
yourself The Lieutenant has a plan, you remember; and if
he serves ^ladam. Madam must, in return, serve him. But my

172 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

greatest fear is, as I have said, that the Colonel's ear may be
poisoned against you. Do you know that Ilutton has already
more than hinted to him that it is by your means that news
has reached Mrs. Danville of his pecuniary difficulties, and that
your object is to get Danville out of your own way ?'

'' ' The villain ! In that case, I must lose no time in seek-
ing Colonel Hayward and disabusing his mind.'

" ' And of course,' says the overseer, laughing incredulously,
'he will believe you! will not suppose you can be actuated
by any but the purest motives in slandering his friend, the
Lieutenant! That he will believe you at once, despite his
senses, as Miss Hayward will believe you when you tell her
that 'Cilia's tale is false! How is your story better than
Button's ?'

" * You look more coolly and justly at the thing than I
do,' says the student, ' and, had we not already gone so far, I
too should begin to wish myself well out of it. But, as it is,
we must watch and wait. Under any circumstances, I have
your promise of silence.'

*' * I shall not betray you,' says the overseer, as he bids
his companion good-night. * But you must not blame me for
the consequences.'

" This conversation, much as it occupies his thoughts for
a while, is soon entirely forgotten by our hero, when, as time
passes, even his suspicious eye fails to detect any alteration
in the usual cordial manner towards himself, either of the
Colonel or his daughter. To be sure the Lieutenant is, if
possible, in yet more intimate communion with the family,
and our hero is less fully and frequently honoured with the
Colonel's personal confidences, but all this may very well be
without any design whatever.

" It is thus that matters stand, when our student is suddenlv
required to ask leave of absence and withdraw for a Avhile

MISTLETOE HALL. 173

from the scene. He is called away abruptly by intelligence
of tlie serious illness of his mother. In his filial anxiety every
thing else is forgotten, and waiting only for the opportunity
of a private interview with Clara, and Mr. Granger the overseer,
he takes the earliest boat down the river to New Orleans.

" His parting with the Colonel is so cordial as to allay any
apprehensions which his interview with the overseer may have
raised, though he does not quite understand the looks of in-
telligence which pass between his host and Clara and the
Lieutenant, as he makes his adieus with a kind word for each
— to the numerous servants who gather around him, and par-
ticularly as he takes leave of 'Cilia, who seems much more
affected than the occasion demands.

" His host and the Lieutenant accompany him to the land-
ing ; and as the boat moves off, a heavy weight seems to move
from Hutton's heart, and he breathes more freely, as a smile
of satisfaction crosses his lips.

" ' You will, I doubt not,' says the Lieutenant, as they
ride quietly homewards, ' soon see more than one good cause
to congratulate yourself upon having got rid of the school-
master. You observed how much the negroes seemed to like
him as he bade them good-bye, and his familiarity with them.
Indeed, he has always had a good deal more to say to them
than he ought ; and then, you know how freely he has often
spoken about the evils of our slave system.'

" ' That is true. But it has been of such evils as we shall
do well to remedy ; such evils as I see and condemn myself.
He is sound enough in cardinal points.'

" ' Of course, he would be a fool not to appear to be so ;
but now that he is gone, I will tell you of some matters that,
out of kindness to him — for I rather like some things about
the fellow — I have thus far hesitated to reveal. I may be
wrong in not speaking to you on the subject before, but I

174 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

did not wisli to bring him into trouble unnecessarily, even if
he is really to blame, as, after all, he may not be.'

""Why, what new phantom frightens yon, my dear boy?'
" * No phantom, Colonel, or a very dangerous one. It is
nothing less than a suspicion I have long had, that your re-
spected tutor's residence here has been of no good to your
servants.'

" ' Why ?' says the Colonel, in surprise. ' You have not
found any real grounds for your absurd fancy that he is an
abolitionist?'

*' ' Nothing more,' says the Lieutenant, quietly, ' than his
questionable familiarity with the negroes, and certain anti-
slavery tracts which 'Cilia tells me she has seen in his room,
and which I myself have found in the cabins of some of those
who are able to read them.'

" ' Indeed : but this is a very serious charge, and I am
surprised that your mistaken kindness should have led you to
keep it so long to yourself. But, you must be wrong. If
your other idea, that he has been bold enough to aspire to
my daughter's hand, be true, he could not at the same time
seek to ruin me !'

" ' O, you do not know to what absurd lengths the fanati-
cism of these people will carry them.'

" ' And, Granger ! He and the tutor are strangely inti-
mate! Surely, you do not think that he is concerned in any
thing of the kind !'

" ' I have thought much of that, but I do not know what
to make of it. But, perhaps,' continues the Lieutenant, laugh-
ing, as a new fancy comes up, ' perhaps it is only an ingenious
plot of theirs to injure me.'
" ' Injure you ! How ?'

" ' Why, by making me seem the offender ! You may
laugh at such an idea, but now that Lawson no longer fears

MISTLETOE HALL. 175

the rivalry of Mr. Danville, he would not stop at any means
to get rid of me.'

" The Colonel seems to enjoy this thought of the Lieu-
tenant's as a capital joke, and the Lieutenant himself finds it
droll enough, as they continue to discuss it, until they again
reach the hall.

"Little dreaming of the daring machinations against him,
upon which Hutton had ventured under the security of his
absence, our hero is equally astonished and exasperated, when
a letter from Mr. Granger informs him of the new turn in
affairs that followed the dialogue, which I have repeated,
between the Colonel and the Lieutenant, as they were return-
ing from the landing on the day of the tutor's departure. The
overseer's communication informs his correspondent, not only
of the strange suspicions against him, but, that the testimony
of 'Cilia, and other servants of Madam Bernard, and the dis-
covery among his baggage remaining at the hall, of inflam-
matory papers, has made the doubts certainties in the belief
of everybody. But there is other news in Mr. Granger's letter,
which affects the reader even more than the story of the
infamous slanders which Hutton has so successfully circulated;
the news of the reported engagement of Clara and his rival.

" ' In this gossip, at least,' says the writer, ' there is much
show of truth. I fear that Hutton has not only won the heart
of our credulous friend, but, that he has him in his power
through the heavy loans which he has made to liim, and, that
he makes his power felt. Though she may seem to do so, I
cannot think that Miss Hay ward likes her suitor better than
before, but, we do not know what sacrifice she might be led
to make for her father's happiness.'

" This startling intelligence, coupled with his repeated dis-
appointments in Clara's neglect of her promise to write to him,
fills him with most painful alarm, and makes him doubly

176 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

impaticut at tlie circumstances wliicli have kept him so long
away from the Hall. Happily, these circumstances are passed,
and the renewed health of his mother permits him to return
without longer delay. Advising Mr. Granger of his immediate
coming, and, enjoining upon him to take no measures in his
vindication, which may betray the secret between themselves,
our hero is again on his way to New Orleans.

" On his arrival here, his ill-fortune seems to pursue him
more tenaciously than ever. New letters from Mr. Granger
inform him that the Colonel has suffered additional and crush-
ing losses, in the destruction of much of his estate by the
ravages of a terrible crevasse, which losses leave him wholly
at the mercy of his chief creditor, Hutton ; and he is advised
not to return at present, lest the violent feeling against him
should endanger even his life.

" This advice has, of course, no weight with him ; on the
contrary, he does not lose an instant in the completion of his
journey. Fortunately, he arrives at the Hall in safety, and
demands to be confronted with his accusers, and to be heard
in his defence. Though his old friendly greeting is wanting,
the Colonel yet receives him with courtesy, and assures him
that he shall have every opportunity to clear himself of the
accusations against him. But it is now late, and the inquiry
must be postponed until the morning.

"It is a singular scene that is now before us in the old
dining-room of Mistletoe Hall. Such a silent, and such a
varied group has never before gathered within the cheerful
walls. There sits the Colonel, with a sternness of look quite
foreign to his nature. Hutton's bold and confident air is not
unmixed with visible symptoms of uneasiness, particularly
when his eye happens to meet the steady, composed gaze of
the tutor, as he stands yonder, with haughty and indignant
bearing, more befitting a judge than a culprit. Madam Ber-

MISTLETOE HALL. 177

nard moves about with marked nervousness ; and Clara, with
'Cilia by her side, is eagerly, though sadly, awaiting the de-
nouement of the scene. Mr. Granger, too, the overseer, is
also present, quietly expectant.

"As the Colonel signifies to the tutor that he is ready to
hear his explanation of the grave charges he has been grieved
to find so strongly preferred against him, our hero hands him
a package of letters, addressed to Mr. Mark Danville.

" ' You once told me,' saj^s he, ' that Mr. Hutton, though
a stranger, was^ in correspondence with our friend Mr. Danville.
You were quite right. They have corresponded -during my
residence here, and you noAv hold all the Lieutenant's letters!
A hasty glance will show you that Mr. Hutton saved both
myself and Mr. Granger the trouble of informing Mre. Dan-
ville of certain matters, the knowledge of which you suppose
to have influenced her to the forgetfulness of old friendship.
They will teach you, also, that if there really is any change
in Mrs. Danville's or her son's feeling towards you and your
family, they are only such as you might expect to follow the
curious tales which Mr. Hufeton's vivid fancy has told them.'

"Various changes pass over the Colonel's countenance, as
he long and silently, though eagerly, peruses the epistles. Be-
wildered with the stories they tell of the sinking fortunes of
his family, of his own desire to be released from his engage-
ments to the Danvilles, and Clara's openly expressed contempt
for Mark, he looks up inquiringly now and then at the Lieu-
tenant, who is ill at ease beneath his searching gaze.

'"A strange tale !' he says, at last, ending his reading,
'and certainly in your hand, Mr. Hutton!'

" ' They are forgeries !' cries the Lieutenant, * forgeries which
l^e' pointing to the tutor — 'has invented to injure me and

screen himself.'

" ' It is possible,' says the tutor, ' that Mr. Danville's replies
12

178 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

to these gratuitous communications, may be found in Mr.
Sutton's possession — in liis trunks, if lie is not afraid to have
them explored, lest at the same time there should be discovered
some remains of the papers and tracts he has managed to place
in my own !'

"Come, come, Colonel!' says the Lieutenant, with an ill-
affected air of indifference, Hhis would be too insufferable if
it were not too absurd! If there are such papers in my pos-
session, which is possible, since ^Mr. Lawson seems so well
informed, it is without my knowledge, and can prove nothing
except a plot for my ruin.'

" ' A plot, indeed, for his ruin— a fatal plot,' says the tutor,
calmly, 'but one laid with his own hands, and that of his
accomplices, 'Cilia, and, I regret that I must say it, Madam

Bernard !'

"All eyes were now turned upon Madam, who indignantly
denied the charge, but Mr. Granger now offered such conclu-
sive proofs against Hutton and herself, supported by the con-
fessions of 'Cilia, that the consciousness of guilt was too evident
in the looks of both, to admit further doubt.

'"Cilia's story, which was now retold, of the manner in
which, by the Lieutenant's order. Madam Bernard and herself
had distributed the condemning tracts, and had bribed the
slaves to accuse the tutor, was so circumstantial, and so
thoroughly corroborated by other confessions, that further ex-
amination seemed quite unnecessary, and the Colonel at once
adjudged the Lieutenant to be guilty of the crimes wrongly
and maliciously imputed to the tutor. The justice of this
decision was well sustained by the rash and self-accusing vio-
lence with which the Lieutenant turned upon the Colonel
with threats of vengeance, in the immediate demand of pay-
ment of the heavy bonds he held against his estate.

"Colonel Hayward hesitated for a moment at the fears

MISTLETOE HALL. 179

which these angry threats called up in his heart, when Mr.
Granger informed the rude creditor that he need be under
no apprehension on that score, as he Avas even then prepared
to satisfy all his demands, having been furnished with the
necessary means by his employer, Mr. Mark Danville.

" ' Such means and such instructions have lonf? been in mv
hands,' Mr. Granger adds, in explanation, to the wondering
Colonel, ' my own reports to Mrs. Danville and her son hav-
ing led them to fear that they might at some time be needed.
So you see, Colonel Hayward, that your friends have not for-
gotten you.'

"At this new mortification, the infuriated Lieutenant has
abruptly left the Hall, and Madam Bernard, too, has withdrawn
in stately indignation. The Colonel is heartily apologizing to
the tutor for his false suspicions, and thanking him for the
service he has done him in exposing the real character of the
Lieutenant.

"'And now,' cries he, joyfully, 'we may again hope to see
our friend Mark ! Aye, Clara, my darling ! We must welcome
him the more heartily, when he does come, in remembrance
of the kind and generous service he has just offered us through
Mr. Granger.'

" ' I shall be glad to see Mr. Danville, father,' says Clara,
as she, too, offers her hand in congratulation to the student ;
' but my heart '

'"Your heart, huzzy! Where is that, pray?'

" ' Here, father, where it has long been, in the keeping
of '

" ' My tutor ? Impossible ! You do not mean to say that
you love '

" ' Your tutor, certainly. Colonel,' says our hero, as he draws
Clara yet nearer to his side, ' but, at the same time, your — -
can my romance be forgiven ?— your friend, Mark Danville !'

180 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" ' Well, I'm heartily glad that the cat and I are out of
the bag at last! He speaks truly, Colonel, and is none other
than what he claims to be !' cries the overseer, in a tone of
glad relief. 'Mark Danville, as sure as I am William Gran-
ger and this old castle Mistletoe Hall !'

" We need not depict the general wonder and delight at
this extraordinary revelation ; the explanations and excuses
which our hero makes about the fancy which jDrompted him
to pay his court to Clara, unprejudiced pro or con by adven-
titious circumstances ; the pardons which are accorded to him :
the suspicions, ' all along,' that he was not exactly what he
seemed, which suddenly come to everybody's memory; or,
finally, the closer reunion which at a later day takes place
between the seemingly estranged families of the Danvilles and
of Mistletoe Hall."

At the conclusion of Mr. Yermeille's history our guests
prepared to depart, but lingered yet awhile longer to hear
a highly moral sequel, in which Mr. Brownoker dealt most
poetical justice to the fugitives. Madam Bernard and Lieu-
tenant Hutton, whom he thought the narrator had suffered to
escape too easily.

i

A.

CHAPTER IX.

"If you have sufficiently drained the Mississippi, gentle-
men," said Mr. Deepredde, putting a sudden stop, with the
authoritative rap of his official knuckles, to the irrelevant talk
of our assembled guests, " we will make oiir way, via the Mis-
souri, yet further into the heart of the great West. Here we
have some pictures by the admirable painter-naturalist, Karl
Bodmer, delightfully suggestive of wild adventure and stirring

sport."

"Ah, ah, 'The Elkhorn Pyramid'*— ' Herds of Bisons on
the Upper Missouri ' "—read Mr. Megilp, scanning the graphic
drawings which now passed round the board. " Appetizing texts,
indeed ! Flakewhite may muse, and ' smile,' if he will, by the
grassy edge of the cag^d fountain, or Yermeille may plot mis-
chief in the shade of his umbrageous oaks; but give me the
music of the rifle in the untrodden wilderness, and let me
gossip with the red-man, the bison, and the bear. What is
the crackle of anthracite to the blaze of the burning prairie,
or the strains of a guitar compared with the jocund serenade

* Fronting Chapter I.

182 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

of hungry wolves ! Here, far away from the conventionalities
and the artificial needs and cares of life, is the place for
genuine enjoyment. Here, where your trusty gun may bring
you dainty meats for food and warm skins for clothing, be-
yond which you feel no other wants !"

" Your conception of the spirit and poetry of our present
neighbourhood is the true one," said Mr. Deepredde ; "for
though the westward course of empire is rapidly scattering the
seeds of other characteristics than those of forest life over the
whole vast area of the wild plains which border the Missouri,
their chiefest features are still those of Nature in her wild
primitive life. Looking then, as we always should, for the
individualities of the lands we visit, it is as proper that we
be hunters and trappers west of the Mississippi, as that we
should play the role of courtly gentlemen in Broadway. The
travellers of the next generation will find a very different
spirit in this our "Western landscape, so rapid is the growth
and extension of the population here. A few years hence,
and Mr. Megilp will almost forget that he ever chased the
buffalo over the plains which he will then find covered with
peaceful firesides and smiling gardens. Such is the certain
prediction of the Aveird voice of the impetuous locomotive,
impatient to traverse the gorges of the Eocky Mountains ; so
says the murmur of that great city growing on the margin
of the far-off Salt Lake ; and such is the significance of the
angry contentions, rife at this hour in our National Legislature,
for the possession of the desert wilds of remote Nebraska.

"And now, gentlemen, with this perhaps too long exordium,
we will make a hasty survey of the present physical aspect
of the boundless regions commanded by the interminable Mis-
souri and its many great affluents."

" Megilp," said Professor Scumble, " has travelled the coun-
try all over, and is just the showman we want."

GATES OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 183

" I will soon make the voyage for you," said that gentle-
man, in ready response to tlie Professor's demand, " though it
is not a very short one, being no less than four thousand
miles from the springs whence the great river flows to its
confluence with the Mississippi. Though there are, of course,
many points of extraordinary interest in all this long transit,
yet, for hundreds of miles, the scenery is monotonous and
stuj)id enough. We must, however, expect Nature to nod a
little in such a jaunt. Here the waters roll through vast
stretches of arid and sterile land, and j^onder they are bor-
dered, on either shore, by the rich alluvial fringe of the prairie
meadows. Each of these prevailing aspects is interesting enough
while novel to the eye, and the wearying excess of them may
well be borne in consideration of the beauty of the bold bluffs,
and yet more charming surprises, with which their monotony
is frequently relieved.

" Such a surprise is the wonderful scenery at tlie famous
'Gates of the Eocky Mountains,' four hundred miles below the
source of the river. Here, through a j^assage of a couple of
leagues, the giant rocks rise perpendicularly from the water's
edge to the towering height of twelve hundred feet. For miles,
the dark waters in their narrow bed wash the base of these
huge walls, so closely that not a foot-hold is anywhere to be
found. It is a ghostly gorge on the sunniest day ; but when
its habitual gloom is deepened by the shadow of a stormy
sky, its sentiment of solitude grows painfully impressive. Let
a thunder-peal reverberate, as often happens, in a thousand
wailing voices through the rocky windings of the glen, and
let the blackness of darkness be increased by the vanished
gleam of the lightning flash, and you think you have left
this fair world far behind you.

" I was once, with some friends, traversing this passage at
such a fearful moment as I have described, when we became

184 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE,

aware that we were pursued by a party of Indians. Noise-
lessly and breathlessly we urged on our canoes, pausing at
intervals only to ascertain the progress of our foes, hope and
despair alternately filling our hearts as we seemed, at one
moment, to be gaining, and, at another, losing ground. It was
only now and then that we caught a glimpse of the savages,
and the sound of their unceasing and unearthly yells came
to our ears with such uncertainty, that it gave us no clue
to their position. The excitement of the struggle was intense
as their random arrows flew about our ears, and as the deadly
effect of our fatal shots was told to us in the death-cries
from their own ranks.

"We took fresh courage, as the increasing light spoke our
approach to the terminus of the glen, and gave us hope, once
on terra firma, of distancing our foes. New fears, though,
seized upon us, lest our scanty supply of ammunition should
be exhausted before we reached the prayed-for sanctuary.
Happily the dread vanished, as the arrows of the savages sen-
sibly decreased in numbers, and the chorus of their infernal
shrieks died away.

" When we at last leaped panting upon the open shore,
not a sound of pursuit was to be heard, leaving us the glad
hope that we had slain them all, or so many as to secure
us from further danger. But not stopping to verify this sup-
position, we made all possible haste to reach the camp which
we had so gaily left a few hours before. Once safe among
our companions, we mentally vowed to be wary henceforth how
we ventured within the Gates of the Eocky Mountains !

" But I am forgetting my office of topographer. Some
hundred miles or so below these colossal Gates — I wish Samp-
son had been with us at the time of the adventure I have
narrated, that he might have toppled them down on the heads
of our rascally pursuers — ^is yet another scene of equally grand

THE FAR WEST. 185

tliough. very different character — the ' Great Falls,' a worthy
peer of Niagara itself. The river at this point descends, by
a succession of cascades and rapids, no less than three hun-
dred and fifty-seven feet in sixteen miles. The perpendicular
falls, commencing down the stream, are first, one of eighty-
seven feet, and others, successively, of nineteen, forty-seven, and
twenty-six feet. Between and below these are continual rapids,
from three to eighteen feet descent.

" Below the Great Falls there is no serious obstacle to navi-
gation, excepting in the shallowness of the waters during
seasons of drought. At such periods the steamboats often meet
with much difficulty in ascending the river. The current of
the Missouri is much stronger than that of the Mississippi, and
so turbid as to have given it its name, meaning * mud river.'

" Numerous as are the objects of interest in the landscape
of this section of our country, which tourists have already dis-
covered, there are doubtless yet hidden within the mountain
fastnesses, many undrearaed-of wonders, whose fame is still to
be made. We must remember that Missouri is a new State,
and its tributary country still a wild and unexplored region.
Its great capital city of St. Louis is described in the Gazetteer
of Dr. Beck, no longer ago than in 1823, as ' a flourishing
post-town !'

" Not taking into account that omnipotent * manifest des-
tiny,' to which we all so confidently look for many grand
results, besides the settlement of our whole "Western territory,
Missouri possesses sources of wealth which must make her
march to power quick and notable. She has a magnificent
area of productive soil, suitable for every species of vegetation,
excepting that of the tropics, and an abundance and variety
of mineral stores already famous the world over.

" All this for the future — for the present, this grand terri-
tory is a perfect paradise to the hunter, yielding him in abuu-

186 THE ROITANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE.

dance every species of game, from partridges to panthers,
from prairie hens to shaggy buffaloes."

" There is one very striking feature of this region, which
Megilp has very strangely omitted to mention," said the Pro-
fessor, recalling the gossip which was straying towards other
subjects, when Mr. Megilp intimated the close of his story. " I
allude to the marvellous fissures which sometimes so suddenly
open in the immense arid plains or steppes, that stretch down
by such slow and imperceptible descent from the snowy peaks
of the Rocky Mountains. I find a graphic description of these
remarkable scenes, in Mr. ' Kendall's Santa Fe Expedition,'
which you will, perhaps, permit me to read. The traveller
is passing the grand Piano JEstacado, which sweeps from the
base of the mountains to the head waters of the Arkansas and
other rivers. He has already wended his wandering way
through one of these fearful chasms, and is rejoicing to find
himself once more on the open sun-lit prairie, when, without
the slightest intimation in tree or shrub of a change in the
monotonous landscape before him, he finds himself at the
mouth of a yawning gorge, which exceeded in grandeur any-
thing he had yet beheld.

" ' One by one,' he says, ' we left the double-file ranks, and
lost in amazement, rode up to the verge of the terrible abyss.
In depth, it could not be less than eight hundred feet, was
from three to five hundred yards in width, and at the point
where we first struck it, the sides were nearly perpendicular.
A sickly sensation was felt by all as we looked down, as it
were, into the depths of the earth. In the dark and narrow
valley below, an occasional spot of green relieved the eye, and
a small stream of water now rising to the view, then sinking
beneath some huge rock, was foaming and bubbling along.
Immense walls, columns, and, in some places, what appeared
to be arches, were seen standing, modelled by the wear of the

THE FAR WEST. 187

water, undoubtedlj, yet so perfect in form that we could with
difficulty be brought to believe that the hand of man had
not fashioned them. The rains of centuries falling upon our
immense prairies liad here formed a reservoir, and their work-
ings upon the different veins of earth and stone had made
these strange and fanciful shapes.

" ' Before reaching the chasm, we had crossed numerous
large trails leading a little more to the west than we were
travelling ; and the experience of the previous day had led
us to suppose that they all terminated at a common crossing
near by. In this conjecture we were not disappointed, for a
trot of half an hour brought us into a large road, the tho-
roughfare, along which millions of Indians, buffaloes, and
mustangs had evidently travelled for years. Perilous as the
descent appeared, we well knew that there was no other near.
The leading mule was again urged forward, the steadier and
older horses were next driven over the sides, and the more
skittish and intractable brought up the rear. Once in the
narrow path which led circuitously down the descent, there
was no turning back, and our half maddened animals finally
reached the bottom in safety. Several large stones were
loosened from their fastenings by our men during this frightful
descent ; these would leap, dash, and thunder down the pre-
cipitous sides, and strike against the bottom far below us,
with a terrific and reverberating crash.

" ' We found a running stream on reaching the lower end
of the chasm, on the opposite of which was a romantic dell,
covered with short grass and a few scattered cotton-woods. A
large party of Indians had encamped on this very spot a few
days previous, the wilted limbs of the trees, and other signs,
showing that they had made it a resting place. We, too,
halte'd a couple of hours to give our horses an opportunity to
graze and rest themselves. The trail, which led up on the

188 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

opposite side, was discovered only a short distance above us,
to the south, winding up the steep and rugged sides of the
acclivity.

" ' As Ave journeyed along this dell, all were again struck
with admiration at the strange and fanciful figures made by
the washing of the waters during the rainy season. In some
places perfect walls, formed of reddish clay, were seen standing,
and were they anywhere else, it would be impossible to be-
lieve that other than the hand of man had formed them. The
veins of which these walls were composed were of even thick-
ness ; very hard, and ran perpendicularly ; and, when the
softer sand which had surrounded them was washed away, the
veins still remained standing upright, in some places a hundred
feet high, and three or four hundred in length. Columns, too,
were there, and such was their appearance of architectural
order, and so much of chaste grandeur was there about them,
that we were lost in wonder and admiration. Sometimes the
breastworks, as of forts, would be plainly visible ; then, again,
the frowning turrets of some castle of the olden time. Cum-
brous pillars of some mighty pile, such as is dedicated to
religion or royalty, were scattered about ; regularity was
strangely mingled with disorder and ruin, and Nature had
done it all. Niagara has been considered one of her wildest
freaks, but Niagara sinks into insignificance when compared
with the wild grandeur of this awful chasm — this deep abys-
mal solitude, as Carlyle would call it. Imagination carried
us back to Thebes, to Palmyra, and to ancient Athens, and
we could not help thinking that we were now among their

ruins.'

"His passage out of this place, Mr. Kendall tells us, was
made with the greatest difaculty, after being completely shut
out from the world during six long hours. When he again
found himself upon the level prairie, and, after proceeding

HUNTING THE BUFFALO. 189

some hundred yards, looked back, not a trace of the immense
chasm could he discover."

" It is," said Mr. Megilp, " one of the favourite modes of

hunting the "

" Pardon me for interrupting you a moment," said the chair-
man, "but I would remark, before the conversation turns from
the topography of our subject, that, having already travelled
so for westward, it would be very agreeable could we cross
the snow-covered crests of the great Rocky Mountains, and,
after a peep at the wonders of California and Oregon, look
out upon the wastes of the Pacific. Despite the but partial
explorations yet made of these wild territories, enough of
beauty and interest has already been found, to lure thither
the hunter of the picturesque, in the teeth of all the dangers
and difficulties of the journey. I should like to look upon the
'stern and rock-bound coast' of our newly-found Dorado, and
watch the rising and the setting of the sun from the crests of
her mighty hills, clad in everlasting snow. Think, gentlemen,
of the Cascade Mountains of Oregon, with an elevation of four-
teen thousand feet! There's a morning stroll for you! After
such a feat, you might do the Camel's Hump, or Mount Wash-
inc^ton, in a quiet evening walk! Then, there are the Grand
Dalles or basaltic precipices of the Columbia river, in its pas-
satre through these same giant hills; and I know not what
other marvellous things; no one knows, as yet. Years hence,
lono- after we shall have laid down our worn-out pencils, the
artists of America will revel in the rich beauties of this now
unknown Western world.

" Now, Megilp, if your speech has not spoiled by keeping,"
continued the chairman, "let us hear what you have to say
about the buffaloes."

" It is a common method of hunting those animals, among
the prairie tribes, I was about observing, to drive the infuriated

190 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

herds over the edges of those great chasms, of which Professor
Scumble has been talking, where, bounding from crag to crag
down to the dark bed of the horrible abyss, their torn carcasses
are heaped up in frightful hecatombs of death.

" Another process of securing the buffalo, is that known
{\s the * Prairie Surround.' Mr. Webber, in his admirable book
about ' Wild Scenes and Wild Hunters,' graphically describes
this mode of hunting. ' The widely scattered line of the sur-
round,' he says, ' inclosing some valley containing a herd, is
rapidly closed up by the yelling warriors composing it, who
drive the frightened animals from its circumference, urging
towards a centre, where, precipitated in the headlong crush
upon each other, the helpless mass sways, bellowing, while
amidst the cloud-dusts of their collision, the forms of the war-
riors, who have leaped from their horses upon the backs of
the buffaloes, may be dimly seen treading the horned tumult
with fierce gestures, and wielding the long lance as a rope-
dancer does his balance pole, with the slight difference, that
with nearly every step they thrust its sharp point down through
joint and marrow, between the spine and scull of some new
victim, whose shaggy back they have but pressed in passing
with their moccasined feet. Thousands are thus slaughtered
in a few minutes. This scene, as weird and wild as it is real,
tamed, by contrast, all midnight phantasmagoria, beneath the
blaze of noon-tide."

" Megilp has no doubt slaughtered many an infuriated bull,
in his day," said Mr. Brownoker; "perhaps managed an entire
' surround,' all alone. He is a ' mighty hunter' before — him-
self! What say you, gentlemen, shall we have

N.

megilp's experience in buffalo-hunting. 191

"To tell the truth," answered Nimrod, "I never accom-
plished much in the buffalo line, having attempted it only
once, and then with but indijBferent success. Indeed, I believe
that I rather lost, than gained, by the operation. We had
pitched our tent near the edge of a great prairie, on the eve
of an eventful day, and our hearts leaped at the approaching
realization of that most romantic hope of forest-life, a buffalo-
hunt. As we sat, to a late hour, talking, in the quiet moon-
li<yht of the valiant deeds the morrow was to witness, a half
incredulous, half sneering smile would come occasionally to
the grim lips of the swarthy rangers, whom we had secured as
cruides and tutors. With the thousand cautions and hints
which they gave us touching the process of the expected
chase, they maliciously mixed up many tales of bloody mis-
adventure, which might have intimidated less resolute souls

than ours.

" When we sallied eagerly forth, under the glittering light
of an early morning sun, our warlike aspect— armed as we were,
some with lances pointed with sharp blades, others with mur-
derous rifles, and others, again, with that yet more fatal weapon
—when in skilful hands— the Indian bow— contrasted vividly
with the quiet sentiment of the verdant plains over which we
were moving, glittering and redolent as the happy landscape
was, with the rainbow-beauty and the Araby odours of myriad
beautiful flowers. It did not seem possible that so smiling an
Eden could be the home of creatures uncouth and wild as the
burly bison; still less, that it could ever be the terrible theatre
of such scenes of deadly struggle as that we were anticipating.

192 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" For a while, as we vainly looked for signs of the enemy,
we felt that the time and scene were indeed unsuited to our
cruel purpose; but there, at last, far away across the broad
savannah, looking in the hazy distance like a small black
cloud upon the horizon, were the grazing herds, quite uncon-
scious of the fate awaiting them — and so they continued to
be, as, spurring our trusty nags, we scoured the plain in hot
pursuit. It was not until we had approached quite near to
them, that they became aware of their danger; when suddenly
pausing in their rough gambols, they raised a bellowing thun-
der of affright, and dashed in mad panic over the prairies.
Now, indeed, we felt that we were in that fairy land of which
our childhood and youth had so often and so wildly dreamed:
and when the first clear ring of the rifle, was followed by the
death roar and heavy fall of a ponderous bull, and a perfect
frenzy of blind terror had seized upon the swaying herds, we
forgot everything, but the all-absorbing passion of the hour.
Blood, blood, was the terrible cry of our hungry souls, as if we
had never had gentler nutriment in all our life. On we
bounded, now after, now in the midst of the maddened brutes.
Carcass after carcass fell panting upon the torn and trampled
plain, under the fatal balls, or the no less sure lances of the
veterans of our party: but as yet neither my amateur compan-
ions nor mj^self had done more than keep out of the way of
the ugly beasts.

" This ' masterly inactivity,' said I to myself at last, may
have answered well enough for Fabius, but will never do for
Megilp ! And raising a mental cry of ' Liberty or death !'
I put after an astounding creature, big and black as the devil
himself.

" ' Only chuck a little salt on his tail, and you'll get him
sartain,' cried an old ranger, sarcastically, as he observed the
culmination of my desperate purpose.

megilp's experience IX BUFFALO-HUNTING. 193

" ' Sing him a hymn ; give him " Old Hundred" in his right
ear,' shouted another, maliciously, ' that '11 fetch him at wonst,
sure as snags.'

" ' Coax him gentle, and you'll saddle him nice,' laughed a
third, as an unlocked for lunge of the creature, brought him so
near to me, that for an instant, half losing my seat, I fell
upon his shaggy back. In a twinkling, however, I shied off,
and raising my 'weapon,' let fly both the barrels at once, with
such unexpected success, that down came the buffalo with a bel-
low and a crash, that made me for an instant, think that the
prairie had ' bust.' Unfortunately, though, he keeled over the
wrong way, and dropped plump under my horse's nose, placing
me in imminent jeopardy of impalement on his ugly horns.
I began to feel a higher esteem for Fabius, when a timely
arrow whizzed by my swimming head, and entering that
of my victim, saved my life — but not my breeches. The 'en-
vious Casca' had made sad work there, and the laugh which
I had levelled, not long before, at the grotesque costume of our
guide, was now, most vexatiously turned back upon myself

"'Ain't the gentleman afeard of catching cold?' asked one
tenderly.

" ' I'm blasted sorry I ain't got a handkerchief to lend him,'
said another with almost tearful sympathy.

" ' What a pictur' he'd be in the settlements,' added a
third.

" ' Never mind, don't cry,' said a fourth. ' It's rayther un-
pleasant of course. But the hide will make you a new pair,
and one more to be depended on than them woman's duds.'

" However, I managed to bear up against all this laughing
raillery, when I considered how much worse the event might
have been ; and other thoughts drew the attention of my com-
rades from my misadventure. Then the chase over, there fol-
lowed the preparations for taking care of the fruits — 1 mean
13

194 THE ROMA^rCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the meats of oiir butchery, and tlie care of concocting the re-
past, for which our appetites were so well sharpened.

"'But I assure you, gentlemen,' said Mr. Megilp, as he
closed his anecdote, " I never sacrificed another pair of trow-
sersat a buffalo-hunt"

.<jyfZ

f
k

r

CHAPTER X.

" In our passage homeward from the far West, we shall
find it very desirable, if not necessary, to traverse the waters
of the beautiful Ohio," said Mr. Deepredde, " and this episode
will not, I assure you, gentlemen, prove the least interesting
in our journey.

" Did the scenery of la helle rivihe not offer to the eye so
many a winding bout of linked loveliness as we delight in
here, there is yet matter for a world of pleasing thought in
the contemplation of the prosperous fortunes of the many
great States which lie upon its banks, and whose resources it
has so much served to develop. As we sail, we gaze in
charmed surprise, upon the thriving towns and the fertile
fields of Illinois and Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky, all wilder-
nesses half a century ago, and now holding, in wealth, popula-
tion, and power, the highest rank among the nations of our
vast confederacy. I must confess that I should like to dwell
long upon this glorious picture of human enterprise and happi-
ness, but that such a portrait, however seductive, would carry
us beyond the scope of these reunions. And I am impatient,
moreover, to read to you a graphic description of the pictorial

196 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

attraction of our river, in some extracts from an unpublished
letter to our estimable bost. The writer is an intelligent
lover of Nature,* and is tborougbly familiar with the scenes
of which he speaks.

" ' John Randolph,' he says, ' had the misfortune upon his
only trip to the Ohio, to find, going and coming, ice upon one
occasion, and low water upon the other. ' So this is your
beautiful river !' he cried ; ' frozen one half of the year, and
dried up during the other !' But this sarcastic note of our
grumbling Virginian must be taken with a due degree of
allowance for his usual extravagant style. Though the Ohio
is not as free from ice as the Rio Grande, nor as deep as the
Hudson, yet it was not inaptly that the early French explorers
called it ' the beautiful river,'

" * For a thousand miles it flows from the rising towards
the setting sun, in almost the same parallel of latitude, and,
while it has not the broad, sweeping banks of the Mississippi,
not the palisaded heights and the bold mountain borders of
the Hudson, each shore offers a grateful medium between the
abruptness of the one, and the level monotony of the other.

" ' Two long Ikes of gentle hills mark its course from its
source, almost without interruption, to its confluence with the
father of waters; between these two picturesque ranges, it
pursues its quiet way, undisturbed, excepting at Louisville, by
rapid or cascade whatever. The bed of the stream is usually
a yellow sand, thickly sprinkled with blue and gray pebbles,
with occasionally a few shells of periwinkle and bivalve mus-
cles, which being left upon the sand-bars by the falling of the
waters in August and September, afford a rare feast for the
crows and the congregations of buzzards, who wheel and circle
gracefully through the sultry autumnal air, or sit upon the

* W W. Fosdick, Esq.

DIAMOND ISLAND. 197

dead boughs of tall trees, sunning their outstretched wings. At
this season may also be seen poised in mid air upon flapping
pinions, like a king-fisher, the great fish-hawk, who often,
through cowardice, loses his game to the bald eagle, the
monarch of all that feathered world. Here and there, knee
deep in the slow current, the blue heron stalks carefully
along in fear of frightening his victims, the buffalo-perch or
the red-horse, which are waving their fins as they lie sucking
upon the bottom ; or standing upon some snag which protrudes
from the water, is the lesser bittern, drawn up into the smallest
possible space, apparently fast asleep; but let some uncon-
scious minnow or silver-side unfortunately swim by, and in
an instant an arrowy neck is shot out, and Mr. Silver-side
snapped up by our sleepy acquaintance.

"'The banks of the Ohio are, perhaps, more indebted for
'their beauty to the majestic forests with which they are clothed
than to any other feature; and, like great emeralds set in the
silver stream, the exquisite islands which dot all its course,
are the best evidence of the rich alluvion that has fed these
forests from time untold. Civilization has made, and is making
many ravages and inroads upon the beauty of these islands,
but those who have seen them in their primitive state can
never forget their charms. Blennerhasset's Island is a famous
and favourite spot, but the crown-jewel in this cluster of the
Ohio brilliants, is the beautiful Diamond Island in the
vicinage of Louisville.

" ' This island is a microcosm of the valley of the Ohio— an
arboreal and floral epitome of its productions. I saw it when
not an axe had touched its primeval forest growth, nor the
foot of domestic cattle crushed the green watery leaves which
covered the ground. Here, in the latter end of April or the

beginning of May — according as the season was hot or cold

could be seen a sight, in the way of flowers, which surpasses

198 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

fable. Over an area half a mile in width and two miles in
breadth, stretched one unbroken bed of blossoms — one mass of
multi-coloured bloom. Stately Indian turnips held up their
striped purple tulip bowls ; bright yellow golden-cups touched
glasses, and drank the morning dew with the broad-leaved
blue-bells. A carpet of violets, azure, white, and gold, over-
laid the dark floor of this beautiful island ; and with dainty
crow-feet, red-spiked pinks, and such familiar flowers, were
commingled a multitude of strange and nameless blossoms of
rarest form and hue. But it is in its forest trees that this spot
presented the most wondrous sight; here the pawpaw — usually
but a shrub — rose from out this rich soil to the high dignity of
its proudest woody peers, and mingled its broad green leaves
and brown blossoms with the box elder, the water-willow, and
the red-bud; while rising far above these, and towering to a
height which no tree ever attains in the eastern portion of our
Union, could be seen the black-berry, the cotton-wood, the black
walnut, the red elm, the white-armed hollow sycamore, and
that glorious monarch of all Western trees, the gigantic yellow
poplar — often five feet in diameter and a hundred and fifty
feet in height — rose here in its full majesty. But to those
who have never seen the original forests of the West, it will be
impossible to convey an idea of the extent and luxuriance
of the wild grape vine. Every tree was interlaced with its
winding folds, and its great tendrils, frequently more than a
hundred feet in length, disported themselves in the sunshine
upon the crowns of the tallest trees; or, when winter had
stripped the forest of its foliage, the clustering fruit hung
thickly in purple bunches; while, like trees of very fire, the
Indian arrow bushes flamed through all the island, with their
scarlet berries, giving a most startling and brilliant efi'ect in
times of snow.

" ' But these scenes are passing ; the primitive forests melt

THE CAVE IN THE ROCK. 199

away; the deer is no longer to be seen bounding through
the yellow blooming spice- wood bushes; the black and glossy
wild turkey cannot be seen scratching among the dry leaves
for beech-nuts; nor is the thunder of the pheasant's drum to be
heard upon the mossy log at even-tide.

" ' The raftsmen who used to come down lazily upon their
loads of lumber and shingles, floating with the tide, are dis-
appearing ; and with them, the flat-boatmen and the wood-
boatmen are fast being lost sight of, as their predecessors the
keel-boatmen have been long since; steamboats have taken
their place, and the old fellows who used to wind their long
tin horns and send their merry music up through the hills,
have vanished, feeling, that for them, "Othello's occupation's

gone !"

" ' The last of these pioneers of the waters of the Ohio that I
saw, was the old knot of fishermen who used to camp upon the
pebbly sand-bar which stretched up from the head of Diamond
Island— in their weather-beaten tent, drawing their seines by
night, and hunting or sleeping by day. But the gray squirrel
that fed upon the walnuts, and the wild pigeons that plucked
the purple clusters of the grape, are gone. The game, too, has
fled, and the idle, harmless hunters and fishers with their blue
striped or red flannel shirts are to be seen there no more.
The axe has been busy. Cattle and hogs have trodden upon
the wild flowers' richest bed, and the bloom has gone from
Nature's garden forever. Art cannot restore it. Cultivation
and science may make new plants to spring up, but the Eden
beauty of the scene is past away, beyond the ingenuity of man
to restore. Its vanished loveliness, though, will ever dwell
in my memory, as the Hesperian Island of the Occident.' "

" Our correspondent has made no mention," said Mr. Brown-
oker, "of the notable object on the Ohio which forms the
study of our evening's sketch. The famous cave in the rock

200 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

is one of the curiosities of Illinois. Its grand mural portico,
presents, as we approach, a very picturesque aspect. We en-
ter the cavern, under a semicircular arch of about eighty feet
span, and twenty-five feet in height, and, ascending gradually
from the bed of the river, we are enabled to penetrate readily to
the terminus, at a distance of less than two hundred feet.
Thougk the scene is one of no slight pictorial beauty, its
great attraction lies in the tales which it tells of adventure
and crime. At different periods it has been the dreaded
haunt of various bands of murderous vagabonds. In years
gone by, the stout-hearted boatmen of the Ohio passed the
lawless spot with nervous trepidation."

"Speaking of caverns, a common commodity hereabouts,"
said Mr. Asphaltum, "we are now on the threshold of the
great Mammoth Cave, the boast of Kentucky. This surpri-
sing freak in the handiwork of Nature is one of the most re-
markable of its class in the world. Its spacious chambers
must have made fitting dens and lairs for the mastodons and
other giant animals which once flourished here. It is the
wondering work of days to follow the windings of this mighty
Tartarus, and examine its numberless chambers, galleries, sta-
lactites, mounds, and streams. It has been explored for many
dark miles, without any sign of a terminus. The scale of this
strange subterranean architecture, may be inferred from the
grand dimensions of its stupendous halls ; one of which covers
an area of two acres, and is arched by a single rocky dome a
hundred and twenty feet in height. This famous cave is the
resort, not only of the curious lover of Nature, but of invalids
who seek the benefit of its equable temperature. Human
bones are found here to such extent, as to lead to the belief
that the cave was a place of sepulture to the races which
formerly occupied the land."

" Kentucky," said Mr. Blueblack, " is deservedly honoured

KENTUCKY. 201

with the possession of this wondrous scene. This hardy State
is the oldest of the Western nations, and the most attractive of
the Ohio group, both in picturesque charms and in historical
record. Under the indomitable Boone, Kentucky led the peril-
ous van in the settlement of this region, suffering for her sister
States all the fearful hardships and bloody wounds which are
ever the lot of the bravest. It is a thrilling story, that of her
early life : dyed with the blood of her ill-fated people.

"The physical aspect of the country is, in many parts,
of remarkable interest, displaying long ranges of mountain
height; while the noble rivers which she sends into the Ohio,
far excel, in beauty, any portion of that great water. The
Kanawha, which we visited while in Virginia, the Cumberland,
the Tennessee, the Kentucky, and the famous " Salt River," of
political waggery, all, at intervals, abound in noble themes for
the pen and the pencil. I do not remember ever to have seen
a more inspiring sight than that which I once enjoyed, gazing
abroad from the summit of the Lookout Mountain, in the ex-
treme north-western nook of Georgia, over a rich and limitless
valley where flowed the winding waters of the Tennessee!
The Kentucky River, in its long course, makes many grand
passes through the hills, forming rich examples of wild river
view — chasm, crag, and waterfall: you remember, perhaps, Mr.
Willis's glowing, yet truthful memories of a recent visit to the
banks of the Kentucky.

" The States bordering on the northern shore of the Ohio —
Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio itself— do not possess any very
striking pictorial interest beyond the novel impressions which
the stranger will receive gazing upon the great flowered prai-
ries. To Illinois may be applied much of what has been said
here about the Mississippi Valley, of which it is a portion. The
shores of the Illinois River offer, here and there, bluffs of
commanding heights; famous among which are the sandstone

202 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

precipices of Starved Rock, The Lover's Leap, and Buffalo
Eock. The "Cave" of our portfolio, as we have said, apper-
tains to the domain of Illinois.

" In Indiana, the chief notabilities are the specimens of
those subterranean abodes so abundant in the West. The
great cavern called the "Wyandotte, is claimed to rival the
grandeur even of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. The
Wabash, the principal river, flows chiefly through table and
swamp lands, and comes in the same pictorial category as the
streams of the South West. Here is that famous battle ground
of Tippecanoe, where General Harrison repulsed the Shawnees
in 1811, and won a watchword to beat the Democrats in the
Presidential struggle of 1841 — for all remember, gentlemen,
the magic refrain of 'Tippecanoe and Tyler too!' Lake Michi-
gan skirts the north-western part of Indiana for some forty
miles, and opens to it the valuable commerce of our vast in-
land seas."

" Apropos," said Mr. Deepredde, "Blueblack's allusion to the
Great Lakes reminds me that we shall not find a better oppor-
tunity than the present, to make the hasty visit due from us to
the States of their vicinage. Here we shall shake hands with
little Michigan, not a very handsome lass, and with buxom
Wisconsin, and her Western neighbour, the young Iowa. The
surface of the last mentioned States is generally composed of
great rolling prairies — the pastures where the Great Spirit of
the red-men feeds his flocks and herds of buffalo, and elk,
and deer. Wisconsin is fruitful in objects of antiquarian in-
terest : earth- works fashioned in the shape of men and animals,
and evidently the achievement of races, antecedent to our Indian
tribes. At Aztalan, there is a venerable fortification, five hun-
dred and fifty yards long, nearly three hundred feet wide, and
between four and five in height. Another work, resembling
a man in a recumbent attitude, one hundred and twenty feet

THE FAR WEST. 203

long, and thirty feet across tlie trunk, is to be seen near
the blue mounds. And at Prairie, another, like unto a turtle,
fifty-six feet in length ! Some of these remains resemble the
extinct mastodon, while others are so defaced, as to entirely
obscure the design of the architects. A part of that beautiful
expansion of the Mississippi, called Lake Pepin, lies in this
State. Among the links of the mural precipices, which en-
close the waters of Lake Pepin, is the celebrated Maiden's
Eock, a charming cliff of five hundred feet, which Mr. As-
phaltum forgot to show on his panorama of the Mississippi.
Nearly all the rivers of Wisconsin present attractive pictures of
rapid, and waterfall, and mural bluff: and like the Territory
of Minnesota, too, of pond and lake.

" In the last mentioned feature, Minnesota is wonderfully
rich. The north-eastern corner of the map of this Territory is
completely riddled with the little black holes which stand for
these sparkling eyes of Nature. Not to mention Lakes Supe-
rior and Michigan, on its northern and eastern boundaries,
respectively, there is Lake Pepin, the Lake of the Woods,
Eainy Lake, Eed, Devil, and Spirit Lakes, and many others.
These clear pebbly waters sometimes cover an area of no less
than forty miles.

" Minnesota, too, has many picturesque rivers, flowing into
the Missouri on her western limits, eastward into the Missis
sippi, and northward into Hudson's Bay.

" In Michigan, there are many small lakes, which give
beauty, here and there, to her generally flat and uninteresting
surface. The Straits of Mackinaw, which divide the northern
and southern peninsulas, and connect the waters of Lake ]Michi-
gan and Lake Huron, arc replete with attractive scenery. The
bold shores of the Island of Mackinaw in these Straits, rise to
a perpendicular height of nearly two hundred feet. Not far
off, is the narrow channel of St. Mary's, linking the floods of

204 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

Huron and Lake Superior, and opening to us a view of the
far-famed Pictured Eocks, formed of parti-coloured sand-stone,
and calling up dreams of vanished or fabled architecture, in
their fantastic fashionings."

" The Pictured Eocks," said Mr, Megilp, the talk here
coming to a halt ; " that reminds me of an adventure of mine,
thereabouts, which, if you are, as I think jou must be, tired
with your long travel, I will relate. It promised to be a
squally affair, but turned out

^0t|iit§ after ^11

"You remember what I said to you, at Tallulah, about my
propensity to quiz the natives, in assuming all sorts of charac-
ters and professions? At the time to which I now refer, I
took a fancy to be deaf as a post, making it necessary for my
companion, and all whom I met, to bellow like bulls, in order
that I might hear and understand them. In this way I often
sorely perplexed and confused the worthy people. Thus, our
hostess would ask if I liked my tea seasoned — referring to a
proposed admixture of sugar and cream — when I would very
innocently tell her that they were all very well when I left
home, excepting the twins, who were teething, and had the
measles terrible hard.

" ' No, no ! not the children ! I asked, ' would you
like '

" ' Thirteen altogether, at present, and a good prospect for
more, thank you ! As likely a looking squad of boys and
girls as you would wish to see very near you. Though, to
be sure, the twins are '

"'You must speak loud, madam,' my friend would say, in-

NOTHING AFTER ALL. 205

terposing at such moments. ' He is very deaf, and can scarcely
hear a thunder storm.'

"Ketiring one evening to my quarters, in a wayside hut,
after a play of this sort, I found myself separated from the bed
of some fellow travellers, only by a scanty wooden partition,
so slight that, despite my deplorable deafness, I could dis-
tinctly hear every word they uttered.

"Now I did not particularly fancy this close neighbour-
hood, for we had met these men before on our journey, and
taken a decided and distrustful aversion to them. Why, I
know not, beyond the generally suspicious style of their physi-
ognomies. It was only the day previous, that they had watched
me with curious eyes, while I was making a trade for a horse,
to supply the place of one I had just lost. I thought then
that my well-filled purse was a grateful object of contempla-
tion to them. They had, too, asked a very long blessing at
the supper table, which did not reassure me, and scarcely less,
the manner in which they kept apart from the rest of the
family through the evening.

"Arranging my pillow, I resolved to keep my eyes and
ears open for a while, and, if possible, learn a little more of
these unknown gentry; a resolve which was not abandoned,
' when I heard one of them caution the other against talking
so loud as to awaken the man in the next room— meaning my
watchful self— and the answer, that there was no danger, since
I was too deaf to hear even Gabriel's trumpet.

"Though I could not understand all that was said, since
they spoke in a very low key, either from habit, the influence
of the silent hour, or an undefined fear, after all, that they
might be overheard; yet I picked up enough to assure me that
my companion and myself were the subject of their dialogue,
and what I did hear was not at all calculated to allay my
curiosity.

206 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" ' Thej do not seem to be quite sure of the safety of the
roads here,' said one, ' for I have observed that they are so
well armed that it would be rather risky to attack them,'

" ' Of course they are armed,' said the other, ' carrying so
much gold about them, as they do. You observed the heavy
purse of that handsome looking fellow, when he was paying
for his nag yesterday.'

" ' To be sure I did. That's a prize, with all there no
doubt is, besides, worth striking for ; and these chaps are not
much protected by their pistols, though they do make a grand
display of them. Any greenhorn, with a sharp eye, might
help himself at his pleasure. They would be frightened ovit of
their skins at the first intimation of an attack.'

" ' Did you not say that they take the new road in the
morning ?'

" ' Yes : so I heard them tell the landlord.'

" ' "Well ; that will be convenient for us ; and I have no
doubt, they will be very glad of our company as they go
through the forest, at Murderer's Hollow !'

" At this last remark they both laughed a chuckling, sneer-
ing laugh, which went far to confirm my worst suspicions.
But all my attention was required by the growing interest of
the prolonged, yet disjointed conversation.

" ' It would be rather ventursome to waylay a man on the
high road, while so many are abroad on the way to the camp
meeting.'

" ' So much the easier to escape in the crowd. I tell you
it's the very best time in the world, on that very accoimt.'

" ' Perhaps it is ; anyhow, we must be wary how we pro-
ceed, for I have some respect yet for my neck.'

" * Oh ! we are safe enough ! old stagers like us ! We'll
get a start of them in the morning, and they'll be up to us by
the time we are ready. We'll look after the burial there in

NOTHING AFTER ALL. 207

the Hollow as quick as possible, and then get to the meeting
as fast as we can, as they will be wondering where we have
been.'

"By this time I had heard quite enough to keep awake
without much effort; quite too much to sleep; so, quietly
slipping from my room, I sought the apartment of my com-
panion, in another part of the cabin, and made him as anxious
as myself^ with the details of all the diabolic plottery I had
discovered.

" The rest of that long night we kept wakeful vigil, dis-
cussing our best mode of proceeding through the impending
dangers. At first, we bravely determined to follow our origi-
nal itinerary, and, if needs be, take a brush with the rapscal-
lions ; first, however, examining our pistols, to see that the
charges had not been surreptitiously withdrawn. Then we
thought of confiding our suspicions to the landlord, whom, we
were well satisfied, would be quite as much astonished at the
revelation as we ourselves had been.

" Finally, however, it was agreed that the suspected high-
waymen should be permitted to start as they proposed, but,
that instead of following them, as we were expected to do, we
would expose their machinations, and take a sufficient guard
with us, to- secure them when they made the attack, which we
should invite.

" In the discussion of these plans, and in some apprehension
of more immediate danger, for we were not quite certain that
our worthies would wait until they reached Murderer's Hollow
for the execution of their bloody plots, the night passed; and
as we opened the shutter to let in the welcome light of the
rising sun, we saw our self-elected travelling companions, al-
ready in their saddles, and starting for * Murderer's Hollow !'

" We looked at each other and smiled meaningly, when
at our very matutinal breakfast, our host inquired how we

208 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

had passed tlie night ; and the smile deepened, when it was
remarked that we had seemingly quite lost our appetite.

" The worthy landlord quickly divined that all was not
exactly right ; so, the meal over, we poured into his bewil-
dered ears the grand secret of our night's experience, and our
scheme for bringing the villains to justice.

" ' What !' he cried, at last, when his astonishment per-
mitted him to speak, ' the men who were here last night,
robbers, murderers?'

" ' As sure as Gospel,' said we.

" ' Ha, ha, that's just it,' screamed our host, his surprise
giving way to an uncontrollable fit of mirth. ' Gospel ! "Why
they are preachers of the Gospel !'

" ' Are you sure ?' we asked — a lurking suspicion, that we
had ' sold' ourselves, forcing its way into our heads. ' And
the burial in Murderer's Hollow?'

" Here the host laughed more obstreperously than ever.
'The burial!' he cried, half choking. 'Why, that's Tom Nu-
gent, the old hunter, who died the other day, and is to be
put into the ground this morning ! These men, you have
taken for highwaymen, are the greatest preachers in these
parts. They are going to officiate at old Tom's funeral this

morning, on their way to the camp meeting at . Why,

I heard them say that they should be glad to have your com-
pany on the journey, especially through Murderer's Hollow,
as you seemed to be well-armed, and the road was not so safe
as it might be. They said they should go ahead, so that they
might attend the funeral and be ready to join you when you
came along. Ha, ha, ha !'

" ' Ha, ha, ha !' we repeated, but not quite so roysterously
as Boniface ; for as the women and children, gathering around,
had managed to pick up the thread of the story, and now
joined heartily in the merriment, we felt sorry that we had

NOTHING AFTER ALL. 209

not got the start, instead of our highwaymen, and were now
in the very deepest and most lonely glen of Murderer's
Hollow !

" This annoying adventure cured me of my deafness for a
while, and read us a lesson upon the immorality of eaves-
dropping, which I commend to your most serious reflection."
14

^>'

CHAPTER XI.

Mr. Deepeedde put on his spectacles, and peered gravely
into the map of New York, which we had placed under his
erudite nose. "I am afraid, gentlemen," said he, "that out
of the abundance of your pleasant memories, you will all speak
at once, when I ask you to send back your thoughts to that
charming feature of the landscape of the Empire State, its ex-
haustless lake scenery. The name of these exquisite idyls in
the poetry of Nature, in our own State, as in all the northern
part of the Union, is legion. ' They lie,' says Willis, ' in the
midst of the wild forests, like silver mirrors, tranquil and
lovely, mingling a refinement and an elegance with the bold
character of the scenery, which contrasts, like Una with the
couchant lion.'

"Everywhere, these silver mirrors repeat the picturesque
beauties of the New England hills and forests. In the wild
solitudes of Maine the noble stag looks fearlessly into the wa-
ters of Moosehead, Umbagog, Oquosuck, Moosetucmagantic, and
Molechumkea-merek ; the names of Winnipissiogee and Squam
always bring pleasant recollections of New Hampshire, and
equally grateful is the memory of the fairy ponds of western

212 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

Connecticut. Beautiful lakes, of every variety of extent and
character, are to be found in all parts of New York, while
througli the northern division, there extends an unbroken
chain of them, over a distance of nearly two hundred miles.
The finest part of this chain lies among and around the Adir-
ondack hills, and the queen of them all is the particular siibject
of our consideration to-night— the far-famed Horicon, as the
Indians had it, Lake Sacrament according to the French, and,
again, in plain English, Lake George."

"The chairman," said Mr. Vermeille, "may very properly
speak of fair Horicon as the gem of the lake views, not of
our own State alone, but of the Kepublic. Indeed, I have
heard the most intelligent travellers confirm my own opinion,
excepting in the subtle charm borrowed from the embellish-
ments of art— the fairy chateaux and crumbling tower— its
beauties are not rivalled by any sister scenes in the old world.
Here, with your permission, I will turn to a passage in Mr.
Willis's 'brief mentions' of American Scenery, which I see
upon the table. 'Loch Katrine,' he says, 'at the Trosachs,
is a miniature likeness of Lake George. It is the only lake
in Europe that has at all the same style and degree of beauty.
The small, green islands, with their abrupt shores— the emerald
depths of the water, overshadowed and tinted by the tenderest
moss and foliage; the lofty mountains in the back-ground, and
the tranquil character of the lake, over which the wind is
arrested and rendered powerless by the peaks of the hills and
the lofty island-summits— are all points of singular resemblance.
Loch Katrine can scarce be called picturesque, except at the
Trosachs, however; while Lake George, throughout all the
mazes of its three hundred and sixty-five islands— there are
said to be just this number — preserves the same wild and
racy character of beauty. Varying in size from a mile in
lenf^th to the circumference of a tea-table, these little islands

LAKE HORICON. 213

present the most multiplied changes of surface and aspect —
upon some onlj moss and flowers, upon others a miniature
forest, with its outer trees leaning over to the pellucid bosom
of the lake, as if drawn downward by the reflection of their
own luxuriant beauty.' "With one more extract, I will cease
my trespass on Mr. Willis's pages. ' The mountains on the
shores of this exquisite lake, consist of two great ranges, bor-
dering it from north to south. The western range passes west-
ward of the north-west bay, at the head of which, a vast spur
shooting towards the south-cast, forms the whole of the
peninsula between the bay and the lake. Both these ranges
alternately approach the lake, so as to constitute a considerable
part of its shores, and recede from it again to the distance,
sometimes, of two or three miles. The summits of these rnoun
tains are of almost every figure, from the arch to the bold
bluff and sharp cone. In some instances, the loftier ones are
bold, solemn, and forbidding ; in others, they are clothed and
crowned with verdure. It is the peculiarity of Lake George,
that while all the world agrees to speak only of its loveliness,
it is surrounded by features of the highest grandeur and sub-
limity. The Black Mountain is one of these ; and there is
every variety of chasm, crag, promontory, and peak, which a
painter would require for the noblest composition of mountain
scenery.'

" The peninsula mentioned here, as forming the north-west
bay, extends southward, within a dozen miles of the head of
the lake. This point is very appropriately called the Tongue;
and in the angles and interlacings which it makes with the
long line of hills on either side, is the most serviceable ingre-
dient in the fine compositions, presented at every step of
progress, by water or by land, through the lower part of the
lake. Eastward of the Tongue, lies that contracted portion of
Horicon called the Narrows, a passage which, seen from Sab-

214 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

bath Day Point, at its northern terminus, offers one of the
noblest pictures to be found in the whole thirty-six miles of
the voyage down the lake."

" While our Horicon," said Mr. Flake white, taking up the
discourse, "wins admiration by its triple beauty of unrivalled
hill, island, and water, it has also, its trio of moral charms, in
its highly poetic humour, its social life, and its historic and
legendary tales. The scenery of Lake George, under every
aspect and every light, cannot fail to delight and quicken the
dullest fancy. Its social pleasures, for it is the summer home
and haunt of thousands of amiable and intelligent tourists, must
soothe and content the most ennuied soul ; while the most
thoughtful and the most imaginative mind will find abundant
matter for reflection and for speculation in its tradition and
romance. From one or other of these points of inspiration,
some of our improvisators will, I hope, be able to draw for
our amusement either song or story."

" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Asphaltum, after a pause,
*'so fruitful a subject as ours, to-night, should not go begging
for chroniclers ; and, as I cannot lisp in numbers, I will tell
you a tale of the heroic period of Horicon — a memento of our
particular theme, the shrewd exploits of the brave Major
Eogers — which gives name to the scene of our picture, and
suggests the baptismal of my story of

'01

t $mxt of Paritoit ; or, 'llogo's

" A century ago, when the French and English colonies of
America were contending for the mastery, they made the now
peaceful waters of our winsome lake, the scene of their wild
and bloody deeds — deeds, which terrible as they were at the

THE SCOUT OF HORICON.

215

time, now serve to spread a halo of deep historic interest over
every wave and island, and hill of the neighbourhood— from
the once busy forts of Edward and William Henry, to the
far-famed walls of Ticonderoga, now left in a picturesque
beauty worthy of older and more storied lands.

" The period of which I speak was one of unwonted activity
throughout the length and breadth of the American colonies.
The people now no longer solely occupied, as in earlier days,
in the protection of their fire-sides against the cruelties of
their Indian neighboiu's, were awakening to the loftier and
more extensive spirit of heroism, incident to a united struggle
against a powerful foreign foe ; that spirit of national individu-
ality and dignity, which henceforward continued to increase
and strengthen, until the country broke away from the bond-
age of foreign rule and became one of the great powers of
the earth. At first glance, we are apt to underrate the character
of the men of those days, in so homely a garb is it exhibited
to us ; and yet, it was grander and more eventful than the
thought and achievement, which in other days and circum-
stances, won the applause of solemn senates, and the acclama-
tions of the swarming populace. The deeds of the simple, yet
lion-hearted rangers and partizans of the colonial and Eevolu-
tionary wars, fill as interestmg, if not as sounding a page in
the world's history, as those of 'the noblest Eoman of them
all.' Among these humble, yet memorable names, are those of
the indefatigable and fearless Marion, the brave Putnam, the
daring Stark, and the gallant Rogers.

"As I was saying, these were stirring days throughout the
colonies. Virginia and Carolina had led the van in pushing
back the French intruders, and now New York and Massachu-
setts coming to their aid, the scene of the war was transferred
to their territory, and the chief operations centred, henceforth,
on Lake George.

216 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

"The enemy in the stronghold which they had built at
Ticonderoga, were in possession of the great highway between
their territory in the Canadas and the possessions of the colo-
nies. The great aim of the colonial operations was to secure
this important post, and many and divers-fated were the expedi-
tions sent out for this purpose. Under the nature of the
circumstances and situation, the movements of these expeditions
were guided solely by the information gathered by the wary
and intrepid scouts. The whole country being a wilderness
of most difficult access, and swarming with the hidden spies
and parties of the enemy, the enterprise of collecting such
information was as hazardous as it was of great pith and
moment. None but such self-sacrificing patriotism, and such
exalted daring as that which animated the souls of our gal-
lant rangers, could have ventured upon the task.

"The journals of these scouts present us Avith graphic
pictures of the nature and risk of their labour, and the brave
spirit in which they performed it. Some of these interesting
'reports' are preserved in the pages of the Documentary His-
tory of our State, a copy of which I see is in the possession
of our worthy host. If he will hand me the fourth volume, I
shall be certain to interest you by the reading of an extract

or two.

"Here," continued Mr. Asphaltura, turning over the leaves
of the tome, which we placed before him, "here is a passage
from the journal of our hero, himself, dated Lake George,
October 14th, 1755. 'I Embarked,' he writes, 'in a Birch
Canoe, at the Camps, on the South End of Lake George, with
Four Men beside my self, & sailed twenty-five miles, and
Landed on the west side of the Lake, then travelled by Land,
and on the Eighteenth Day I arrived on the Mountains on
the West side of Crown Point; there I lay that Night, and
all the next Day, and observed the Enemy's motions there

JOURNALS OF THE SCOUTS. 217

and about Crown point, and observed Ambreseers Built upon
the Mount, about Thirty Eods To the southwest of Crown
point fort ; in the Evening went Down to the Houses that
was built upon the Lake to the South of Crown point, &
went into a barn that was filled with wheat & left three
men, & proceeded with one man To make further Discoverys
at the fort, and found a good place to Ambush within Sixty
Rods of the fort, & Imediately went back and took our part-
ners and ambushed at the proper place we had found, and
there we lay Till about Ten of the Clock, & observed several
canoes passing up and down the Lake and sundry men that
went out To work about the secular affairs, & Judged the
whole that was in the fort to be about five Hundred ; at
length a frenchman Came out of the fort Towards us, without
his gun, and Came within fifteen Rods of where we lay ; then
I with another man Run up to him In order to Captivate
him, but he Refused to Take Quarter, so we Killed him and
Took off his Scalp in plain sight of the fort, then Run and
in plain view about Twenty Rods & made our Escape, the
same Night we Came Right west of Tianderago about three
Miles and upon a Mountain in plain sight of their fort & see
large Incampments Round it & heard a vast number of small
arms fired. Judged there to be Two Thousand men at Tian-
orago ; and on the Twenty -first Day Got to our Canoes about
Eight of the Clock in the Morning & found all safe, and about
Nine of the Clock in the Evening Arrived all well at our
Encampment where we set out. The above is the Chief Dis-
covery that we made at Crown Point and Tianargo.'

"In another 'report' to head-quarters, our hero writes,
' Set out with a Party of fifty men with orders to Look into
Crown Point and the Advance Battcrys that is Built Round
it, the first Day we march^ Down the Lake George about
Eighteen Miles & Camp'^, so we proceeded by the wcsf'^ of

218 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the Create Mountains And continue our March until the 2<^
of Febry, and then Clamb'^d up a Greate Mountain to the
Wesf'i of Crown Point about one Mile, and gave it the name
of Ogden's Mount, there we took a Particular view of the
s^ fort and the Kedouts that is Built Eound it & a Plan of
the same, we Laide there untill the Evening then went Down
the Mountain, march^ through a small Village About half a
mile from the Fort to the Suther*^, there we Laide in Ambush
upon each side of the Roade that leads from the Fort through
sa<^ Village, there we laid Until about nine o'clock in morns,
and there came along one French man which we took pris-
oner, & 2 more were upon the Roade a coming towards us,
but Discovered our Ambush and made a speedy escape to
the fort, and some of my men pursued them within gun Shot
of the Fort, but could not overtake them. So we Being Dis-
covered, thought it needless to waite any Longer for Pris-
oners, but Imediately set fire to the Bams & Houses, where
was abundance of Wheat k other grains, & we Kill<i their
Cattle, Horses, Hogs, in number about fifty. Left none
livino- in said village to our knowledge, about 11 o'clock we
marched Homeward, Leaving the Village on fire the 5th inst.'

"In the rude style and orthography of these journals,"
continued the narrator, as he ended his reading, "we have a
vivid picture of the rugged exterior of the heroism of our
country's history — an exterior which carries back our thoughts
to the humble and uncultivated, yet dauntless natures of the
apostles of our Christian faith.

" It was while on a service such as the extracts which I
have read, describe, that our hero met with the famous adven-
ture which I proposed to narrate. Returning over the hills
from a weary and hazardous observation of the terrible fortress,
his thoughts, as he pushed through the dense forests, were
busy with the results of his enterprise — so busy that he not

ROGERS's ADVENTURE. 219

only failed to notice bis near approacli to an ambuscade of
Indians, but that be unwarily gave expression to tbe satisfac-
tion of bis beart, and called upon bimself tbe observation of
tbe savages, by a loud and bearty laugb.

" ' I've got tbem now, sure as pisen !' said be, in a tone
of bappy self-felicitation — but at tbe same instant, be caugbt
a glimpse of bis unlooked-for foes — and witb a sudden and
total cbange of countenance, but still witb a daring insou-
ciance of feeling, natural to bim and his vocation, be muttered,
' and now tbey've got me, true as Gospel !'

" Hemmed in on all sides, tbere was, seemingly, no bope
for our beleaouered ransrer. But bis natural valour and wit
did not desert bim. TVitbout waiting to be captured, be sent
up a loud sbout for belp, and spreading bis arms towards bis
foes, rusbed madly into tbeir midst, witb an affectation of tbe
confidence and joy of a fugitive finding sanctuary.

" ' Quick, quick !' be cried, ' or tbey'll be upon us !' point-
ing to some imaginary object in tbe direction from wbence be
had come.

" ' "Where ? what ?' asked a bewildered Frenchman, who
appeared to be in command of the troop.

" ' Tbe Yankees !' gasped tbe fugitive. ' I've give 'em tbe
slip by a miracle ! I was coming to you with a message from
tbe fort, when they got bold of me, and stole my papers,
the scoundrels! They'd have killed me, sartain, if I hadn't
watched my time when they were asleep and done for their
infernal Captain — that diabolical Eogers!'

" ' Rogers !' exclaimed tbe party, in one voice, as they
gathered round tbe exhausted rangers. ' Have you killed that

rascal ?'

" ' Yes, yes ! I've sent him to Heaven, sure enough ! I
gave him one dig, and it settled bim without a word. He
didn't so much as say " thank 'ec," tbe ungrateful dog ! Then

220 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

I stripped him, and putting on his nasty rags, coolly passed
the sentinels, and ran for my life. When I saw you, I was
afeared that I'd fallen into their dastardly hands again, but
thank God, I'm safe now, and if we make haste we may meet
the imps, and get back the messages '

" The party were so rejoiced at the capture of their dreaded
foe, the redoutable Rogers, and our hero played his part with
such perfect aplomb, that they did not delay to question the
truth of his story, but set off in all haste towards the English
quarters — the direction indicated by tlie fugitive, as the where-
abouts of his late captors.

" They continued the search eagerly, but without success,
until another night brought them to a halt. Fatigued with
their extraordinary labours, and assisted by the somnolent
effects of a jug of whisky, which our hero adroitly managed to
get down their throats, they soon sank into a deeper repose
than the imaginary one which had facilitated his fancied escape
on the previous night.

" Waiting patiently until the whole party seemed to be
either asleep or unobservant of his motions, he quietly stole
from the circle, and again breathed freely ' in the wilderness,
alone' ; but, as his changeful destiny would have it, he was
not quite alone ; as he suddenly discovered, when he ran
rudely against an unlooked-for out-post. In a twinkling, the
fugitive snatched the tomahawk from the hand of the aston-
ished sentinel, and buried it in his head, but not with sufficient
celerity to prevent his sending up a cry of alarm, which
aroused the sleepers to a knowledge of his flight, and to a
torturing suspicion of the ruse by which they had been so
readily deceived.

" Rogers did not stop to look behind him, knowing that
his safety now laid in his legs alone. He had at all times a
tolerable degree of conndence in these good friends, which was

ROGERS's SLIDE. 221

now increased by the thought of the fine start he had got of
his pursuers, and of the hesitation and delay their surprise
would create. Upon the latter advantage, however, he soon
found that he could count but little. It was only at intervals
that he managed to gain sufficiently upon his foes to lose the
sounds of their pursuit. In his eager haste, he for a moment
mistook his course, and escape now no longer appeared possible,
as he suddenly found himself upon the brow of a huge, mural
precipice, overhanging the lake.

" "When the enemy caught a glimpse of his position, and of
his momentary hesitation, they sent up an unearthly yell of
triumph. It was for an instant only, that he stood gazing over
the precipice, and as the voices of his foes died away, a smile
crossed his lips, as if in pleasure at some odd fancy of his
brain.

" ' I'll fix the varmints, after all !' he muttered, and coolly
reversing his snow shoes in such wise as to lead to the infer-
ence that he had slid down the precipice, he slid, instead,
quietly off in another direction.

"When the Indians reached the rock, they looked in blank
amazement, at finding it unoccupied, and their wonder rose to
admiration and awe, when they became conscious of the tre-
mendous feat by which their victim had escaped ; and never
afterwards did they look upon his face, or hear his name, with-
out a feeling of reverence and fear, as of one under the especial
protection of the Great Spirit.

"And from that day to this," said Mr. Asphaltum, ending
his narrative, " that famous precipice has been kno^vn as
Eogers's Slide !"

" And a fitting monument it is," added the chairman, " to
the memory of a gallant man."

" Now," said Mr. Brownoker, " I will, if you please, and
bv way of varying the time, give you a later, and lighter

222 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

reminiscence of Lake George. It is not quite so adventurous,
or so eventful, as Aspbaltum's, being all about a lady's glove,
instead of a warrier's hatcbet — significant, you perceive, of
tbe present peaceful cbaracter of tbe region, in contrast witb
its olden days of turmoil and strife."

"Onr bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures."

" Exactly, my dear Scumble," continued Mr. Brownoker,
after a moment's bait, while he nodded to the worthy Pro-
fessor, as be thus relieved bis mind. " We are now in tbe
drawing-rooms of Horicon, instead of its battle-fields. My
story, as I was saying, is all about a glove. Gloves, you
know, are among tbe most romantic and suggestive thoughts
in the world. How tbe young heart beats at the sight of a
dainty glove, upon a fair girl's gentle "

"Oh I that I were a glove upon that hand.
That I might touch that cheek" —

" Don't interrupt me, Scumble, with your pitiful verses —
fair girl's gentle band. There is the hawking glove, witb its
thousand delightful memories of the merry age of falconry;
and, now we live over again the wondrous days of chivalry,
as we pick up tbe gauntlet of the fearless knight. Think of
those good old times, when a poor devil might legitimately
win a sweet kiss, and a pair of gloves into the bargain, from
bis sleeping lady-love ; when gloves had the magic gift of in-
ducing fairy dreams ; when the poetical ceremony was in vogue.
of blessing tbe glove at the crowning of the French monarcbs;
and, when England's kings, on the same occasions, with tbe
casting of a glove, gallantly challenged all the world to dis-

DIAMOND isle; OR, THE STRAY GLOVE. 223

pute their right to their thrones! From the cherothecsB and
manicse of the Komans, down to the present hour, gloves, like
modern sentimentalists, have had a history! Even yet, the
romance lingers. Gloves are still the most ceremonious and
poetic part of our attire ; still, as of old, favourite gifts at the
bridal, and at the grave. Gloves "

"We admit all that," interrupted Mr. Blueblack. "But
to leave gloves in the abstract, and to come at once to the
individual, and particular glove of your story "

"Ah, yes! My story of

\dt; or, €\}t ^trag (Sto.

"Some summers ago I had been long lost to the sight, if
not to the ' memory dear,' of my friends, in the beautiful soli-
tudes of Horicon. I had mused away whole months, far re-
moved from the great world, in my quiet studio at the little
inn at Bolton, now that fashionable resort, the Mohican House.
And a favourite haunt it well deserves to be— for it is the
centre of the most picturesque portion of the lake ; command-
ing a hundred happy views of the Tongue, the Narrows, the
North-west bay, the islands, and Shelving Rock; and, from
the neighbouring elevations, overlooking the whole charming
panorama of land and water.

"I had had a glorious time there, 'all by myself; but
the sweetest sweets grow disagreeable in excess; and after a
while, one might weary even of the sun and shade of Eden
itself, you know. So I thought, as I was one day lounging
homeward, with my sketch-box on my back; and I suddenly
resolved to take a peep at a more busy world than that in
which I had so long lived. To this end, I determined to mi-

224 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

grate, for a season, to that fasliionable resort at Caldwell, the
Lake House, where I could again have use for my cravat, and
once more conscientiously venture upon the extravagance of
blacking my boots.

" On regaining my den at the Bolton landing, a carriage
was just rolling off towards the very place of my desires ; and
a hurried glimpse which I caught of a beauteous face protruded
for a moment from its window, clinched my purpose to gather
up my duds and be off. My plans were by no means changed,
upon learning, as I entered my studio, that the fair unknown
had in my absence, and by permission of the hostess, amused
herself with my portfolios. When a further examination re-
vealed to me a perfumed glove, and that glove of the most
petite and most faultless contour, still warm from the fair hand
which had, designedly or not, left it among my treasures, I
could no longer brook the briefest delay in the hour of my
departure, as I instantly prepared for my visit to the Lake

House."

At this point, Mr. Brownoker begged his hearers to con-
sider the first chapter finished, and to 'fortify' themselves
before the commencement of the second.

"On second thought," he resumed, "after gazing again
upon the bald peak of Black Mountain, upon the richly
wooded ridges of the Tongue, the palisades of Shelving Rock,
and the placid reach of islanded water, which the window of
my little studio revealed, I resolved to make only a brief
visit, still retaining my cherished sanctum here, as my head-
quarters. The remembrance of the true delights I had long
enjoyed, in communion with ever-constant and unsophisticated
Nature, who, as some gentle-minded youth has sweetly ob-
served, 'never did betray the heart that loves her,' proved

DIAMOND ISLE; OR, THE STRAY GLOVE. 225

much stronger than the seductions of fashion's soulless joys !

" Instead of following the road which skirts the margin of
the lake, I thought I would jump into my boat and take
another pull among my favourite islands. A charming da}-
was drawing to a close, and the silvery disc of the moon had
already taken its place high in heaven, giving sweet promise
of a lovely night. Tossing my portfolio and my travelling-
sack — furnished only with some spotless linen, and a resplen-
dent pair of patent leathers — into the skiff, my oars were soon
moving to the music of my thoughts, as I skimmed the
translucent waters.

" The physical exertion of rowing, the beauty of the even-
ing, radiant in the intoxicating atmospheres and hues of a
fading summer sun, the ever-changing and ever-charming land-
scape, familiar, yet always fresh to my eye and heart; the
crowd of gay and mad fancies which filled my busy brain,
all conspired to induce a feeling of hope and gladness, un-
wonted even to my always buoyant and happy humour.
Simply to live, would have been, at this moment, a sufficient
delight; but my soul leaped within me, as it answered to the
varied voices of the myriad unseen spirits which filled all the
sky, and earth, and water around me. I moralized pleasantly
with the setting sun, the brightening moon, and the passing
clouds, and then gossiped with that mad-cap flatterer, Echo, in
her hidden home among the hills, asking her a thousand
absurd questions, to which she made me a thousand obliging
replies. I cannot repeat all the nice confidences, and all the
bright hopes she gave me touching the fair owner of my pre-
cious glove. Suflice it to say, that they were enough to keep
my thoughts active and happy— so active and happy, indeed,
that the hours fled unperceived, and, to my surprise, I sud-
denly found myself in the shadow of Diamond Isle, and not

far from my place of destination.
15

226 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" Diamond Isle was one of my favourite haunts, and as I
approached, I turned the prow of mj skiiF, to make it a pass-
ino- call. Nearing the shore, I was not a little surprised to
find a boat drawn up on the beach. No time, however, was
left for speculation on this incident, as more startling surprises
absorbed my attention. A cry of terror reached my ear, and
in an instant afterwards, I beheld, rapidly hastening towards
the shore, a sprite-like figure, clad in mystic white. I pushed
in with all speed, and springing from my boat, caught the
frightened girl in my arms, just as she was sinking to the
earth, exhausted and insensible.

" The moonbeams, which had been hitherto obscured by
the clouds, now shone out full upon us ; and I recognized the
features of the fair face which I had seen at the carriage-win-
dow, on returning to my inn that afternoon. When she soon
after opened her eyes with returning consciousness, her alarm
took another form, at finding a stranger by her side, but a few
words of explanation and introduction, aided by a mention of
the visit she had paid to my sanctum during the day, sufficed
to quiet her new fears, and to enable her to relate the cause of
her first terror ; which turned out to be nothing more serious
than the surprise of a sudden encounter with a rattle-snake.

" ' I have often met the creatures,' she said, as a smile rose
to my lips, ' without any sense of fear or averson, and I cannot
imagine what may have possessed me to act so ridiculously at
this time.'

"In reply to my wonder at finding her thus alone in such
an odd place, and at this strange hour, she told me that in
obedience to an impulse, which often seized her, to commune
with Nature in her solitary haunts, she had stolen away from
the circle of merry-makers in-doors, and, as her eye wandered
over the beauties of the placid waters and the sleeping islands,
she could not resist the temptation to enter her skifi", and had.

DIAMOND ISLE ; OR, THE STRAY" GLOYE. 227

unthinkingly, extended her ramble far beyond her first pur-
pose.

" ' Though,' she continued, ' I frequently venture on bolder,
and more unreasonable exploits, than a lonely visit, by moon-
light, to Diamond Isle. In my short life, I have passed through
so many scenes of danger, that all sorts of adventure have
now, to my fancy, a species of fascination, like that which
impels one to gaze at the serpent, or to dash headlong from
the brow of a precipice.'

" ' Certainly a strange love,' I answered, ' for a young and
dainty girl ! Perhaps you will tell me of some of the hair-
breadth 'scapes of which you speak.'

" ' Willingly,' she said, seating herself in the stern of my
boat, and adjusting the rudder, while I threw out my oars,
and pushed once more for the Lake House — pulling her own,
now empty, skiff in our wake — ' willingly, but as our time
will not suffice for more than one recital, it shall be of an
incident which happened to me in this very region, during a
visit a few years since. One bright morning, I joined a merry
party in an excursion to the forest-glens of the Tongue Moun-
tain. In the course of the day, we managed, in the following
of our several humours, to get widely separated, some pursuing
one object, and some another. My own cavalier, a devoted
lover of the chase, catching a glimpse of a passing deer, forgot
his gallantry, and leaving me alone, started off in pursuit.
Wearied by his protracted absence, and by the many exercises
and excitements of the day, I established myself, lazily, under
the arms of a brave old hemlock, and soon fell asleep. When
I opened my eyes, after a refreshing nap, a savage creature,
which I afterwards learned was a panther, glared ferociously
upon me from a bough of the very tree under which I was

lying.'

*' Here I interrupted the brave girl, with a smiling remark.

228 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

touchiug the appellation of 'painter,' by v/hicli these anknals
were vulgarly known.

" Glancing with a look of arch understanding and flattering
confidence from my portfolio, which lay in her lap, to myself,
she resumed, ' my first impulse was to shriek for aid, but I
immediately remembered to have heard that the. wild beast
never attacks its prey while sleeping, and I reclosed my eyes,
scarcely daring to respire, so intense was my fright. I remained
thus, motionless, breathless, and terror-stricken, for an hour —
it seemed to me a year — without venturing to look up, ex-
cepting only once, and then I again encountered the frightful
stare of the panther. At length, to my inexpressible delight,
I heard the voice of my truant companion, calling my name,
as he came nearer and nearer. But I felt it impossible to
answer, and a new horror seized upon me when I thought of
the risk to which he was himself exposed. My agony was too
much, and I was upon the point of warning him of his danger,
at the sacrifice, as I felt, of my own life, when the report of
a gun startled me, and a heavy object seemed to fall at my
feet, while the woods echoed with a shriek which completely
upset my frightened senses.

" ' When my consciousness returned, it needed but a glance
to explain the happy circumstances of my escape from the
terrible death, which, but a moment before, had seemed inevita-
ble. My companion at my side, and the slain panther at my
feet told their own story, as well as he himself afterwards
related it : how, failing in his chase for the deer, he had has-
tened back, and seeing me motionless upon the ground, and
the forest monster watching me from above, he had thought
me slain, and with the quick, unerring aim of desperate ven-
geance, had brought him to the earth. Never shall I forget
that terrible day !' said the lady, as she finished this very
agreeable little narrative.

DIAMOND ISLE; OR, THE STRAY GLOVE. 229

"By this time we were approaching the hotel, and my
heroine intimating a Avish to re-enter unobserved, flitted from
my boat and my sight, leaving me to make my debut in the
usual mundane manner.

" After the necessary repairs in the matter of toilet and table,
I ventured to peep into the drawing rooms, where, among a
large and gay assemblage, I greeted more than one old friend
or city acquaintance. But, as I was not exactly in the vein for
a sly flirtation by the light of a chandelier, and more especially,
perhaps, as my unknown heroine did not make her reappear-
ance, I again started out in the moonlight, to talk with my
own quickly beating heart.

"So many thick coming hopes and fears agitated me, that
the whole night fled in wakefulness; and, wearied with vain
efforts to sleep, the early morning sun found me again a restless
wanderer on the hill-sides.

"Now thought I, as I returned to breakfast, I shall again
see those fatal eyes which have so disturbed my wonted careless
and contented thoughts. But the eyes came not, and mine
host's famous trout went away untouched. The dinner now
passed, and my hopes with it. Again the ball room was filled
with sparkling eyes, and lovely forms and faces— so they told
me— for I could see nothing, the light of my soul being still
absent. My case was growing desperate, and I even caught
mvself thinking, as I looked abstractedly into the clear waters
of the lake, how sweet it would be, to lie quietly within their
peaceful lethean embrace.

"Then came cruel thoughts, that my beauteous Dian had
left all memory of me in my boat, as she stepped out; and
again a fear seized me that she might be ill, while I was making
no kind inquiry, and proffering no tender sympathy— and with
these speculations it occurred to me, for the first time, to ques-
tion my host.

230 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

"Great was my vexation to learn, only, that slie had
left the hotel, and gone in the steamer down the lake while I
was strolling disconsolately through the woods in the morning —
at least, so my landlord supposed, for my description of the
lady did not quite enable him to identify her. A dozen such
ladies he said — as if the world was blessed with more than one
— had gone off that day.

'"And did she leave me no message?' I asked, more in sor-
row than in anger.

" ' Who ?' said the Commodore, looking at me, with a pro-
vokingly suspicious smile.

" ' Ah ! how could she ?' I muttered to myself, ' not know-
ing my name ! What a deuced fool I am to be sure !'

" ' My dear Brownoker,' said the Commodore, ' I do not
wish to steal your confidence, but permit me, as a friend, to
ask whether you are drunk, or in love.'

" ' In love !' I ejaculated, now, for the first time, fully
realizing the nature of my complaint, and remembering all the
malicious looks and hints thrown at me, throughout the day, by
my many friends. In love! no; but you, must be mad.'

'"Ha! ha! ha!' bellowed the Commodore as I rushed away.
♦ That's a good joke ! We must inquire into this mystery.'

" Without awaiting the result of my host's inquiry, I stepped
into the office, settled my bill, jumped again into my boat, re-
passed Diamond Isle with a sigh, and never ceased tugging at
the oar, until I had regained my quarters at Bolton.

" It was near midnight as I re-entered the inn, and the in-
mates had retired, excepting only a few old veterans who were
discussing a protracted tipple. They gave me a greeting, but
were much surprised at my speedy return, particularly those

THE FAIR INCOGNITA. 231

who were aware of my desire to improve my acquaintance with
my unknown visitor.

" In answer to the general demands for the incidents of my
tour, I related the history of my encounter with the incognita,
in the white-robed lady of Diamond Isle.

*' ' I never,' said one old toper, ' suffer any of my gals to stir
about in that way. Out of fourteen, I never had one who — '

" Interrupting my hearer's domestic memoirs, I narrated the
adventures of the panther, in which every one suddenly took
unusual interest, exchanging, as I proceeded, very significant
and mysterious looks.

" ' Very remarkable,' muttered the father of a family intro-
duced a few sentences back ; ' very remarkable ! When the
carriage passed yesterday, I thought I had seen her before,
somewhere or other ; and it must have been here, for I have
never been anywhere else.'

" I was about to inquire what they knew of her, and her
history, when my landlord added :

'"I thought, too, I 'd seen the gal before ; but I disremem-
ber'd who she was. Tiiat affair of the panther made a great
stir when it happen'd, and we have always kind o' wanted to
know what became of the lady, and if she married.'

" ' Married !' I exclaimed ; ' Oh, no ; not she !'

" ' Why, it ivas said,' continued mine host, ' that she after-
wards became the wife of the gentleman who saved her life.'

" This very reasonable idea which had never before occurred
to my blinded perceptions, completely put to flight all my
dawning hopes, and I hastened to avoid any further discus-
sion of the subject by pleading fatigue, and seeking my too
long neglected pillow.

"The unpleasant suspicions, which I soon learned had
been aroused in the minds of the good people of Bolton, no
less than among my friends at the Lake House, by my late

232 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

aberations of mind, induced me to break up my camp, and
continue my further explorations of tbe Lake.

" I came to this determination the more promptly, that I
had found, on my return, an invitation to a ball, a few evenings
hence, at Gurfield's, near Sabbath Day Point, the very place
which I next proposed to visit. The card came through a
valued friend of other days, whom I had lost sight of for
several years, but who had in some way kept better track of me.

" Bidding a final adieu to my friends at Bolton, I proceeded
leisurely, on foot, over the mountains to Sabbath Day Point,
arriving at the hotel, on the very evening of the promised
merry-making.

" It was not long before I greeted my old friend, and re-
counted with him the adventures of the long years, that had
passed since we had laughed together.

" ' And so, Harry,' I exclaimed, quite forgetful of my late
meditated recusancy, 'you have, like myself, the happy fortune
to escape all Cupid's snares, and are still a joyous, hearty
bachelor ! Aye, my boy ?'

"'Bachelor! devil a bit of it, my old friend! I've re-
canted. I have abjured all those infamous heresies, and have
become the luckiest Benedict alive !'

"'Gracious heavens!' I ejaculated, with a long-drawn sigh
of intense commiseration. ' Tell me, Harry, how it all hap-
pened, and if the earnest sympathies of a true friend will '

" ' Sympathies ! ha, ha ! That's a capital joke — capital ;
but I see, poor, deluded sinner, that you are yet in the gall
of bitterness, and in the bonds of iniquity! Your rambles
about Horicon have not been so fruitful as have mine. All
my good fortune has been fished from these waters, or quarried
in the hills. When I had the happiness to bring down that
blessed panther, and save my Ella's life, I struck a vein
which '

THE ECLAIECISSEMENT. 233

" ' Oh, ye gods !' I exclaimed, as the fatal truth burst upon
my mind. ' Panther ! Ella ! and were you, Harry, the hero
of that memorable incident ; and is she — ^your wife ?'

'"To be sure ! She is'nt any thing else ! Come, let us go
and join the ladies, and you shall become better acquainted
with Ella ; for you must know that she has already met you,
and has taken a -great fancy to you. You remember the lady
who visited your studio at Bolton, and whom you encountered
so romantically, the same night, on Diamond Isle?'

" ' The fact is, Harry,' I replied, in a faint, sad voice ; ' the
fact is I am terribly fatigued by my walk to-day, and only
came over to see you for a moment, and make my apologies
for the necessity under which I find myself, of hastening on to
Ticonderoga, and thence to the city.'

'"Nonsense! nonsense! Ella would never forgive you!'

" ' Make my compliments to her,' I cried, tearing myself
away, and flying back to the domicil in which I had taken up
my abode ; ' I shall meet you soon in town ; you know my
address — au revoir.''

" Before I slept that night, I addressed my treasured glove,

under an envelope, to 'Mrs. Henry B ,' at Gurfield's

Hotel, and, at daybreak, was en route for home !"

When our friends had sufficiently complimented Mr. Brown-
oker upon his affecting story, we were malicious enough to
hint, that his adventure seemed to be grounded upon incidents
we had ourself once told ; to which accusation he slyly pleaded
guilty, but justified, first upon the ground of eminent and multi-
plied precedent. " Shakspeare, himself, you remember, was
free enough in borrowing suggestions from others ; and sec-
ondly," he continued, " the tale seemed to me deserving of a
more permanent record than you had already given it, and that

234 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

there could not be sucli better record than in your own pages."
In consideration of Mr. Brownoker's last flattering excuse,
we forgave liim for "stealing our tbunder," and promised to
enter the story on our minutes. And with this understanding
the meeting adjourned.

I

CHAPTER XII.

" The Gothamite," said Mr. Deepredde, " who for the first
time runs up from the thronged walks of Broadway, to the
almost unbroken wilderness of northern New York, is aston-
ished that Nature should yet remain in such primitive solitude
and grandeur, so near the crowded marts of commerce and
the ceaseless hum of human life and enterprise. The moun-
tain steeps seem strange to his Kuss-pavement vision, and the
bounding deer, or the screaming panther are droll, fellow-
passengers for him to jostle."

"How is it," inquired Mr. Megilp, "that so vast a territory
as the wilderness stretching from Champlain, westward along
all the shore of Ontario, shotild still remain unoccupied ?"

"Chiefly," returned Mr. Deepredde, "from the fact that
its rude mountainous character makes it unfit for very profit-
able agricultural uses. Its rich mineral stores, however, have
been turned to good account; especially the fine iron ore of
that quarter distinctively known as the Adirondack. Here, very
extensive works have been for a long time in successful opera-
tion."

"Portions of these lands," added Mr. Brownoker. "have

236 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

been presented at different times as free gifts, to the negroes,
bj the philanthropist Gerritt Smith. The benefactions, how-
ever, have in most cases been unappreciated, or, at least,
unimproved. Be it through the natural laziness of the African,
or from the incapacity of the situation and soil, none of the
settlers have long held their possessions. One of these in-
domitable fellows, it is said, pronounced Mr. Smith's land so
poor, Mat de grass-hopper had to go down on he knees to
smell de. clover!' Cuffee, however, is every where, and by
nature so indolent, so wanting in enterprise, and even in
desire, that it is a question whether he would be able to raise
a muUen in Paradise."

"I do not know though," said Mr. Asphaltum, "that we
should lament the loneliness of the region. It is at present a
noble field for the health-giving and soul-cheering recreations
of the angle and the chase ; and in the progress of time, the
shores of its countless beautiful lakes will become the most
delightful of all summer resorts for our invalid and pleasure-
seeking population,"

" For some time to come," said Mr. Blueblack, " the Adiron-
dack region must be left to the ISTimrods ; at least, until the
floods of commerce shall sweep through the frowning moun-
tain gorges, and the means of locomotion be greatly increased.
Very few ladies will venture there at present. The paths are
too rude and too narrow for the passage of the trailing robes
and flowing skirts of fashion. What can our drawing-room
belles do in a country which can be traversed only on foot, or
in boats, which must every now and then be borne across the
portages that continually break the chain of lakes ; and which
must always confine their wardrobes to the narrow limits of a
carpet-bag or a knapsack ; and where, too, the paths, when
such blessings are to be found at all, are over jagged rocks,
lost m the debris of the woods, or leading one often through

THE ADIRONDACK, 237

the treaclierous bogs of a beaver meadow? And yet some
brave women I have met here, roughing it with the stoutest,
under canvass tent, and over rocky ways, and without any
abatement of lady-like grace and elegance. One of these
true women was once rowing with her husband down the
merry current of the Saranac, when they suddenly encountered
a monstrous bear ; to proceed was scarcely possible, since the
animal barred the passage, while to return was quite as im-
practicable, for some rapids in the way, which they had just
gallantly descended, were not to be re-traversed so quickly and
easily. As monsieur was nervously manceuvering to dodge
the beast, madame coolly seized the gun and despatching a
ball at his ugly head, brought him down upon them with the
added fary of hunger and passion. A terrible struggle fol-
lowed, in which the lady laid about her bravely with the stock
of her musket, and monsieur greatly damaged his oars. Ex-
hausted at length by the bleeding from the wound made by
madame's shot, and the persistent battery which followed, the
animal fell heavily against the boat, cooling the heated brows
.of his captors in the startled waters."

" Blueblack's anecdote reminds me," said Mr. Megilp, " of
an adventurous ramble I once made through the Great Indian
Pass. While crossing one of the many doublings of the
Ausalle, which rises hereabouts, I was startled on seeing,
through the thick intervening bushes, the terrible eyes of a
wild-cat, fixed glaringly upon me. In my alarm — for I must
confess I was, at first, a little frightened — I was about to
raise my gun, but as the creature seemed to move, I desisted,
fearing to exasperate it. For a long, long time — God knows
how long — I stood tremblingly gazing at the fixed eyes of the
monster, while it still looked as unmovingly at me. My heart
all the while was in my mouth. As I thus watched, hour
after hour dragging slowly by, I thought my time was come,

238 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

and said my prayers with unction. All my sins rose up before
me, I thought of all the evil paths into which my friends here
had led me, and more particularly did I repent me of certain
unpardonable peccadilloes into which I had been tempted by
Brownoker, Fatigue and hunger came upon me, the day
waned, and darkness — the black darkness of the forest — ap-
proached. I could bear it no longer, and was fairly sinking
with exhaustion, when the animal again moved as if to spring,
and lifting my piece, I blazed away in desperation, and the next
minute he fell at my feet. As soon as I dared, I proceeded to
examine my conquered foe, and to my astonishment, large as
he had seemed to me, glaring down from his perch, I found
him to measure, from the head to the tip of the tail, no less
than fifteen "

" Whew !" cried Brownoker, whose eyes had been dancing
with merriment, during this exciting recital, " Stop where you
are. Megilp, lest when your time does come, it be a ' time, indeed.'
Gentlemen, I heard the whole of this tremendous adventure
from the lips of an old hunter in the Adirondacks, who in-
formed me, in confidence, that the terrible panther which Me-
gilp brought down after a whole day's parley was, simply, a
mass of swinging debris: bark, moss, and fungi, into which
some scraps of glittering mica, which he mistook for savage
eyes, had been blown by the wind."

" But my dear Brownoker, you see — "

" No use, my good fellow ! Confess, and throw yourself
upon the mercy of the court! When released from his dur-
ance of mortal fear, our poor friend could no longer find his
way home in the darkness, and he was compelled to listen all
night, cold and supperless, to the dainty serenade of the
wolves! Don't say a word Megilp, or I shall remember the
cigars which you picked up at Gilsey's, when we were once loun-
ging down Broadway, and which you, meeting me some hours af-

.y-y

HUNTING AND FISHING. 239

ter wards, oflfered to me as extraordinary Havannas, given you
by your particular friend, Don Jos^ Calderon de la Humbug-
gios, just arrived from the Antilles I"

Megilp, solemnly insisted upon the truth of his story, and
the gross malice of Brownoker, but not successfully enough
to stay the general laugh at the unlooked-for denouement.

" Blueblack is right," said Yermeille, " in leaving our north-
ern wilderness, for many years to come, to the uses of the
sportsmen. And great, indeed, are its capabilities in this wise.
Rowing through the thousand little lakes here, often have we
pulled up to lunch on some inviting island shore, when our
guide has suggested to us the propriety of raking up material
for a fire, while he should throw in his line, and take a few
trout ; and seldom was it that some half dozen of the sparkling
gentry were not spread upon our primitive griddle of forked
twigs, quite as soon as the fire was ready to receive them. I have
seldom ventured out for a stroll without crossing the path of a
deer. And with good dogs, a successful morning's sport is
always to be had. On Tupper's Lake, one of the most pictur-
esque of the Saranac group, a party of hunters took,' recently,
no less than twenty-nine deer and one moose in a period of
eight consecutive days. A veteran angler from old Scotia, accus-
tomed to fishing in the ancient reflective Izaak Walton fash-
ion, went off from this neighbourhood in high disgust at the
superabundance of the fish. He was too deeply penetrated
with a sense of the dignity and difficulty of his art, to see it, like
French, Spanish, Italian, and other once serious studies, ' made
easy' at that rate.

" The people here, support themselves by hunting, and by
the fees they receive as guides to amateur Nimrods. Their
usual charge, where the visitor keeps such game as may be
caught, is from two to three dollars a day, for boat, guide, and
dogs — the guide rowing, hunting, cooking, carrying the boat

240 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE.

across the portages, and making himself generally useful as man
of all work You may accompany tlie hunters, simply to wit-
ness the sport, or even to assist therein, without price, they
finding their account in the moderate charge they will make
you for board in their little inns and cabins. Accompanied by
a friend, I once made a cruise of some weeks on the Saranac
lakes. We furnished our own provisions, while the guide sap-
plied boat, baggage, tents, and utensils, dogs and ammunition,
and for his manifold services received from us two dollars per

day.

"These guides, who are hearty honest fellows, most often,
of strong individuality of character, like to serve a clever and
intelligent employer, but your gauche cockney excites their ire.
I heard many stories while among them, of a certain sporting
person who went into the region, originally, to save souls, but
very soon found it much more amusing to kill deer.

"Uncle Moore, as he was familiarly known among his
mountain parishioners, was a mighty and inexorable hunter.
He went it unceasingly, from night to morn, from morn to
dewy eve.' It was not his unwearying enthusiasm which
offended the guides, but his utter want of the true genial spirit
of the chase. He had no love or consideration whatever for
the poor victims. He would simply slaughter them, when he
could, by hecatombs, and merely preserving the skins as tro-
phies, leave them to rot at leisure. This wholesale and useless
destruction was forever exposing him to the blessings of the
guides. They were always glad of an opportunity to mar his
plans and destroy his sport. When his piece was poised, the}-
would manage unobserved to frighten away the game ; or they
would mislead him into fields, as barren cf deer as they were
toilsome of access.

" No opportunity of annoying or quizzing old Uncle Moore
was suffered to pass unimproved. On one unpropitious occa-

UNCLE MOORE's NIGHT HUNT. 241

sion he must perforce go forth, ou a night hunt. The skj
was threatening, and no sooner was the boat pushed off, than
a settled and persisting rain set in. After a fruitless pursuit
for some hours, during which time they were well soaked, and
the boat well lined with water, they neared an island shore,
and the guide suggested the propriety of running in and lying
by for better weather. ^

" ' O, no !' said the invincible dominie. ' I guess we had
better keep on ! It's only a shower, and we shall scare up
something soon!'

" The guide was silent, then, as through another hour,
during which time the storm had increased, and the navigation
was becoming as perilous, as it had long been uncomfortable.
Uncle Moore was evidently getting tired of his bargain, and
he looked from the black sky to the dim shore occasionally,
as though he knew which of the two he would prefer, if he
were asked. But the guide pulled on, and did not ask him.
He saw Uncle Moore's uneasiness, and he maliciously resolved
not to come to his aid ; on the contrary, he was careful to
approach, continually, within tempting distance of the shore,
and then pull directly away. At last, the parson's valour was
exhausted, and when the boat again neared the land, he re-
marked, obligingly : — •

" ' Well, Bill, as you were saying, the weather does look
rather bad, and, on second thought, I am not certain that it
would not be best for us, as you suggest, to lie by awhile.'

" ' Aye !' said Bill, looking up distractedly from his mus-
ings. ' What did you say, Uncle Moore ?'

" ' I was observing,' reiterated the afflicted dominie, ' that
I think it is possible you may be in the right about holding
up a '

" ' 0 dear, no, Uncle Moore,' said Bill, in a tone of aston-
ishment. ' We musn't think of such a thing ! Lie by ! nonsense !
16

242 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

Why you know it's only a shower, and we shall be sure to
scare up something soon !'

" ' Scare up our death-a-cold !' muttered the martyred parson,
too proud to take the responsibility of backing-out upon his
own shoulders.

" And again, and again, the boatman presented a Tantalus'
cup to the dominie's lips, in a hasty glimpse of the shore.
Round and about, like the craft of the ancient mariner, went
the phantom boat all that weary night, until at last, they
scared up daylight and sunshine, and the exhausted parson
was allowed to step ashore.

" ' I was determined,' said the guide to me, as he finished
his story, ' that the old fellow should enjoy his shower !' "

" Yermeille's reminiscences of the Saranac, remind me,"
said Mr. Brownoker, " of a devil of a tramp I once had with a
friend thence through the woods to the Adirondack. By the rough
route we followed, the distance to the Iron "Works was but twenty-
five miles, whereas the dry beaten path would have taken us
back again to our starting point on Lake Champlain, and led
us a roundabout journey of a hundred miles. The passage
through the forest was deemed scarcely practicable, but shoul-
dering our knapsacks, we ventured upon it. It so happened,
unfortunately, that the usual difficulties of the way were at the
moment greatly increased by the late heavy rains, which had
fearfully swollen the brooks and destroyed the footing. Our
first day's march, passed off well enough, leading as it did for
the most part, over a tolerably beaten trail. We brought up for
the night, at the cabin of an intelligent settler, in a pleasant
valley, bravely sentinelled at all points by the chief veterans
of the Adirondacks and their allies. Here, was again seen the
grotesque outline of the Crotchet Mountain, which had formed
so prominent a feature in all our pictures on the Saranac lakes.
Yonder shone the bald pate of the White Face, and farther

A TRAMP IN THE WOODS.

243

removed, and prouder than all, rose tlie 'sky-piercing' cone
of the renowned Talianous. As we retired for the night, the
weather was still extremely threatening, and so, too, when we
arose the next morning, but to accomplish the long day's work
it was necessary that we should start too early to learn the
doubtful purpose of the clouds towards us. At day-break, our
host put us upon the trail, bidding us to follow the opening in
the forest, which had been made years before in the construc-
tion of a winter road. As this path was only intended for
use when deep snows buried the ground, the stumps had been
suffered to remain in such wise that it was hardly more passable,
at this season, than the untouched woods. The undergrowth,
too, had encroached so much, as to continually obscure the
clelrino-. The way leading along the base of the hills, and by
the brook-sides, carried us everywhere through deep swamps.
We were soon wet through from battling with the drippmg
bushes, without the further aid of a dense and dreary Scotch
mist, which soon came on, and grew heavier and darker
through all the endless day. At first we stepped over the
crowd°ed puddles with careful daintiness; after the passage of
half a mile, however, we were quite content to sink in the
mire no deeper than our ankles, and, when a mile had passed
away we cried 'Eureka,' at an occasional glimpse of our
boot-tops. It was a weary way, and toilsome. The miles
seemed magnified to leagues, and tired, as we soon grew, we
were yet too much soaked and chilled to stop for rest. We
kept up our sinking spirits by mutual raillery upon our woe-
becrone appearance, and by now and then-when the ram-drops
sla°ckened-caricaturing each other in our sketch-books. Our
host had warned us, that near the middle of our march we
should bring up on the shore of some lakes, around which
no road had been cut, as they have crossed always on the ice.
To circumnavigate their intervening waters, we, of course,

244 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

blunderingly took the wrong side. Fearful that night would
come upon us, before our journey should be ended, we dashed
on, manfully, over rock and fallen tree, occasionally following
a trail, which after a couple of hours' struggle, conducted us
to a ruined bark shanty, on the shore of the lake, provokingly
near the point from which we had started. Here we feared
we should be compelled to pass the night: no very charm-
ing prospect in our total want of provisions, with no means
of kindling a fire, and with no arms to defend ourselves against
the wolves, with which we knew the woods were filled. Look-
ing out forlornly upon the troubled waters, doubly ghastly
at this twilight hour, amid the sad drapery of the storm, we
at last, as good luck would have it, espied a solitary fisherman
in the dim distance. My companion made the woods echo
with his shouts, but his voice was drowned in the wailing of
the winds. I came to the rescue with an unearthly yell,
which startled the woods, themselves, no less than it electrified
my friend. 'That's the thing,' he cried, delighted at the
effect ; ' do that again, I can 't : it will fetch him to a fraction ;*
and ' fetch him,' it very happily did. He turned out to be an
inhabitant of the settlement, come forth for a day's trouting.
"We soon explained our dilemma, and secured his services to
conduct us to our destination.

" ' You never could have got 'round on that side in the
world,' said he, as we told him of our efforts to regain the
path, on the opposite side of the ponds. 'Just a little ways
beyond, you would have come to some rocks a hundred feet
right " upendicular," which you wouldn't have circumvented in
a month.'

" Taking passage in the ricketty canoe, we passed the lakes,
and arrived, with the darkness, at the little settlement at the
Iron "Works, where we speedily hung ourselves to dry by the
grateful fires of the rambling inn — a wretched place enough,

'i^^^m^'S-'f '-'K^T'-; ■ ■.a^!|SSf.'Pir«'«^;

THE ADIRONDACKS. 245

but to US a palace at that moment. In the satisfaction of our
hearts, we liberally rewarded our Charon, mentally repeating
the verses,

Take oh boatman, thrice thy fee,

Take, I give it willingly ;

For, invisibly to thee,

Spirits, twain, have crossed with me.

Spirits of renewed life and hope, which grew and brightened
with the pleasures of our subsequent rambles in the vicinage;
for the Iron Works is the centre of that wide area of the pic-
turesque, famous under the name of the Adirondacks. In close
proximity on each side of this little social oasis in the wilder-
ness, are the beautiful lakes Henderson and Sandford. The
shores of these waters are everywhere bold and picturesque
in outline, commanding admirable views of all the principal
mountains, and affording many varied glimpses of the great
walls of the Indian Pass. The soaring crown of Tahanous,
or Mount Marcy as it is sometimes vulgarly called, we reached
from this centre. Near by, also, is Cheny's Lake, named in
honour of the famous hunter, of whom Headley and Lanman
have given us so many agreeable stories ; and Avalanche Lake,
a darksome pool, into which Mount Golden has rudely put
his foot.

" But to review all the points of interest here, would steal
the hours which some of us can, no doubt, occupy more agree-
ably with other recital. If I remember aright, I once heard
Asphaltum winning the love of a fair circle with some story,
true or fanciful, no matter which, about an old solitaire he
encountered among these hills."

*' By all means," said Mr. Dcepredde, " let us hear the expe-
rience of Asphaltum. The solitudes of the Adirondacks are just
the scenes for such a dismal yarn as he would spin."

246 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" As the chairman desires to say," observed Mr, Asphaltum,
" the spirit of our wildernesses is not much in accord with
flippant chat or gay adventure, and yet its voice is grateful to
the ear which can hear. If it pleases you, I will recall what I
can, of my recollections of

C^e Permit d t|e ^Mronhcks,

" The stranger will do well not to venture alone into the
intricate forests of the Adirondacks. Once lost in the pathless
woods, he is beyond the help of the town crier. Even the
genius of Yidocq would fail to discover him.

" It was my ill-fortune, on my first arrival here, to find
the few professed guides pre-engaged, and the rest of the good
folks too much occupied, by their own affairs, to accompany
me very often in my wanderings.

" 'If,' said the honest mountaineer with whom I had taken
up my quarters, ' If 3'ou could only get the doctor, now, to
go along — ^but its no use talking about that — though, to be
sure, he does sometimes take a sort o' liking to painting and
writing people like you — but it don't often happen,'

" ' Who is this doctor ?' I asked, with no little curiosity,
having already, during my brief residence on the mountains,
often heard his name vaguely mentioned.

" ' He hasn't lived here long,' continued my host, not heed-
ing my question, ' but there's not a man among us knows the
woods as he does. He seems to be at home, like, in the
mountains — they're sort o' brothers and sisters to him, and yet
he wasn't raised among 'em. They say he is from the cities,
and knows more than all the fine people that comes here put
together,'

THE HERMIT OF THE ADIROXDACKS. 247

" ' And why cannot I get his help, if he's not otherwise
engaged ?'

" ' 0, bless 3-0U ! he isn't a guide, though he sometimes
goes out with folks when he takes a fancy to 'em. He just
lives to suit himself, sometimes in the woods, or all alone with
that old negro he brought with him, who's just as mum as
his master ; and that's mum enough, for he never says a
word about himself, and never has anything to do with any-
body, more than he can help, except when folks is sick or in
trouble, and then he's sure to be on hand, and a kinder-hearted
man at such times, or a better doctor, I never seed or read on.'

" ' Ah ! he's a physician, then ?'

" ' "Well, I can't tell what he was afore he came here, but,
as I was saying, he knows pretty much everything ; and folks
don't stay sick long after he comes.'

"'Ah,' I said to myself, discovering a mare's nest, 'he
asks no fee ?'

" ' He soon sets 'em up, and then flies off, and we don't see
anything more of him 'till trouble comes again.'

" This, and subsequent conversations with my host, and
others, about their eccentric neighbour, ' the doctor,' as he
was simply called, aroused my curiosity, and won my interest
— ^the first, when I supposed him to be some soured old
misanthrope, whom the world loved not, because he had never
loved the world ; and the second, as the genuine, if not genial
regard for his fellows, displayed in his sympathy with their
afflictions, if not with their joys, led me to picture him to my
heart, as a noble and delicate nature, which the winds of ad-
versity had visited too roughly : a nature bowed down and
hallowed by the too heavy pressure of sorrow.

" That it was not simply a passion for the pleasures of
forest life, but rather the remembrance of some hidden grief,
which had brought and kept him here, was sufficiently evi-

248 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

denced by his solitary existence, his habitually grave mood,
and his careful avoidance of all society in its light and happy

hours.

" My desire to learn more of the unknown, was only in-
creased by the utter failure of all my efforts to make his
acquaintance. At length, accident served me, where my wdt
had been unsuccessful. A cold, which I had caught through
unwise exposure to the mountain storms, ended in a violent
fever, and long days of delirium; and the first object which
my eyes rested upon, when I awoke to consciousness, was a
strange face, so earnest and thoughtful in its character, so
expressive in all its lineaments, so peculiar in its strong ..mdi-
viduality, so exactly, indeed, in everything, except in its
youthfulness, the face which my fancy had painted as that of
the mysterious doctor, that I felt sure it could be none but
he, who was bending over me with such deep and grave

interest.

" I had been long disposed to like him, and now, gratefully
remembering the service he had just rendered me, I pressed
his hand with all my feeble strength.

" ' Ah !' said he, coldly, and hastily withdrawing from the
bed. ' He will do well enough now, without my further care.
Give him the medicine as I have directed, and if he should
not continue to improve, let me know,' and the doctor van-
ished.

" This chilling rejection of my friendly advances did not
o-rieve me, as it would have done, had I not known something
of the doctor's humour; and, I was still further consoled, on
learnino- afterwards, that he called, at intervals, to ask after
my health, and occasionally visited me in my sleeping mo-
ments.

" As my health returned, I resumed my explorations of
the mountains — the more indefatigably, in the hope of encoun-

THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 249

tering the doctor, who, I well knew, spent most of his time
out of doors, hunting, fishing, sketching, or in lonely musings.
My cherished object was gradually gained. Here, and there,
in the wildest glens and hill-tops, I occasionally came upon
the solitaire. From the exchange of simple and brief civilities,
these interviews grew into continued conversations, and, at
last, they reached an intimacy which brought us continually to-
gether.

" The simple curiosity which had first prompted me to
search the causes which led the exile into a mode of life, so
unsuited to his talents and prospects, changed into a worthier
and more earnest motive, as I began to feel the beauty of his
character, and the splendour of his genius — perceptions which
grew upon me with every new day's study and observation.
A sincere friendship now urged me to fathom the secret of
his unrest, that I might bring to him, if not relief, at least a
soothing sympathy.

" ' What,' I continually asked myself, is the heavy cloud
which forever darkens his thoughts. That no crime weighed
upon his conscience, I knew well enough. He was incapable
of wilful wrong to any, unless to himself. A selfish and
morose temperament I was sure it could not be, for his nature
was gentle, hopeful, and loving ; deep, not boisterous ; earnest,
but not demonstrative. Thwarted ambition it was not, for he
possessed the youth and genius, which might confidently aspire
to the highest fame. Neither could poverty be the fatal drug
at the bottom of his poisoned cup, since he seemed to set but
little value upon riches, or any of the pleasures at their com-
mand : and there was evidently within his reach gold enough,
at least, for all his desires.

" There remained but one other influence — the only one,
indeed, powerful enough to so deeply affect and crush a strength
like his. 'Here, then, I'es the secret,' said I — but you shall

250 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

have the brief, sad tale, in his own words, as he told it to me,
in an hour and mood of tearful confidence.

"It was a fearful night, and so wild was the storm, that
being unable to regain my own home, I was compelled, not
unwillingly, to accept the hospitality of the solitaire, at whose
jealously guarded cottage I had been passing the day.

"A long conversation upon the nature and philosophy of
life— the variety, weight, and value of its duties and delights,
its hopes and fears— had led us to consider all the thousand
impulses and desires which fill and stir the human heart.

" ' The only real happiness, the only true life,' said my friend,
as the night waned, ' lies, after all, in the culture and develop-
ment of the affectionate part of our nature. In the degree
it may contribute to this growth, the humblest object becomes
ennobled and hallowed ; while, without this end, the loftiest and
proudest possession and achievement is but an idle vanity. Love
is the soul of content and pleasure in this life, as it is the
evidence to our minds, and the hope to our hearts, of another
higher and more lasting existence :— love in all its degrees of
manifestation— from the cold sense of duty, which leads us to
perform our role in life honestly and justly— to the tempest of
passion, in which our very being is merged in that of another.'
" ' Then, why,' said I, ' will you not be happy yourself in the
cultivation of this subtle, perfumed flower of love? If I read
your character truly, there are few natures better fitted to give
and to win its virgin sympathy and devotion.'

" 'My friend,' said the doctor, in a deep and earnest voice,
and affectionately grasping my proffered hand, 'you have, I
am certain, truly divined the hidden secret which I never
thought to betray to any living soul, and which it has been
my unceasing task to hide even from my own thoughts. I
have cultivated that magic flower of love— watered it with all
the fervour and devotion of my heart, and drank in its intoxica-

THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 251

ting fragrance, until the whole world has seemed filled with
its loveliness. Then I was strong and invincible in will, and
effort, and hope, fearing nothing, and daring all things. Then —
but why recall those joyous hours only to make the present
weary days yet more desolate ?'

"'And if the flower withered in its beauty,' said I, 'will
not the same breath give life to another?'

"'Would that it had withered, for then the dead leaves
would have remained to me, as a consolation and a hope. But
it lived alas! — lived to kill, with its false and poisonous
odour, the tender trust which it beguiled with a too rash life.
Ah, my friend, you have never blindly groped in the black
darkness which follows the setting of a sun like mine.

" ' Suns set to rise again, if we will but open our eyes to the
dawning light, and the longest night has still the sweet, if less
glowing, radiance of moon and stars to guide and cheer our
way.'

" 'The first crushing bitterness of my sorrow past,' con-
tinued the doctor, 'my pride, my manhood, and my reason
all pointed to that softer light of which you speak, and the
struggle of my life has since been, to grow content in the
enjoyment of such poorer pleasures as it still left me. To this
end I have sought to forget, in the quiet of the old woods, all
the thoughts and scenes of the bitter past, and to fill my heart
with new and less treacherous loves. I have learned many a
lesson, not only of patience, but of hope, in the study of the
useful page of Nature : learned to speak calmly to you, a stranger,
of emotions that once maddened me when whispered to my
own ears. Perhaps I may, in time, grow strong in their peace-
ful teachings, to resume my place, and play my part in the
great theatre of life.'

"More than once, during this dialogue, had we stopped to
remark the progress of the storm which had detained me at the

252 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

doctor's hearth, and which in its desolate spirit had, no doubt,
much contributed to induce his unexpected confidence. I was
about to question him more particularly of the circumstances
which had so terribly and disastrously affected his life and
character, not without a vague hope that all might yet be well,
when our attention was arrested by what seemed to us the
sound of human voices mingling with the mourning winds.

"'Our fears have deceived us,' said the doctor; 'this is
a lonely neighbourhood, and it is seldom that a traveller passes,
even in the sunshine. Certainly, at this hour, and in such a
tempest, no one — '

" At this moment, the fancied voices came to us again,
and now in unmistakable calls for help, and, immediately after-
wards, there followed a loud and violent rapping at the door.
" ' Well, well,' said the doctor in answer to my inquiring look,
as I moved to admit the strangers, ' it would be brutish to refuse
hospitality ou such a night, but I cannot play the host until,
at least, I know who are my guests. Serve me, my friend,
now, as you have often done before, and take my place as master
of the house.'

"While thus speaking, the doctor slipped into his private
sanctum, and, unbolting the door, I admitted the benighted travel-
lers.

"To ray surprise, my eyes fell not upon weather-bound
hunters, but upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, evi-
dently little used to such rude travel.

" Without stopping for a word of greeting, the father, as he
seemed to be, wheeled a lounge up to the blazing fire—for fires
are often needed in the summer time here — ^upon which he
eagerly placed the half conscious girl, and sought to revive her
by assurances of safety and comfort.

"While removing the numerous shawls and handkerchiefs
in which she was half stifled, a miniature fell unobserved to

THE HERMIT OF THE ADIROXDACKS. 253

the floor, wliich, not wishing to disturb the anxious cares of
the traveller, I placed silently upon the table.

" ' I am sorry to intrude upon you so unceremoniously,' said
the stranger at last, and when the invalid seemed somewhat
more at ease; 'but our carriage has been broken in the dark-
ness of the night and the roughness of your mountain roads,
and we had no alternative except to wait for morning in the
woods.'

" As I uttered a few words of the' cordial welcome which
I felt, the old man cast a wondering look over the apartment,
evidently surprised at its unexpected elegance. His perplexity
seemed to increase, as his eye fell upon the books and pictures,
and other objects of taste and luxury which filled the adjoin-
ing room, the door of which the doctor had left open in his
hasty retreat.

"But his whole care was again demanded by the suffering
girl, who grew every moment more and more indisposed. A
violent fever appeared to have seized her, and very soon her
mind wandered, and she talked, incoherently, now of the scenes
through which she had just passed, and then, of misfortunes and
sorrows of years ago.

" ' The poor child,' said the father, as we bent over the
invalid, ' has known affliction even in her young life, and des-
pite all my jealous care. I brought her hither to distract her
troubled thoughts, and to recruit her enfeebled health ; and
now, alas ! I fear that I have but hastened the terrible fatality
which I have so long dreaded. O, would that there were a
physician near !'

" ' Thank heaven ! your wish is not in vain,' I cried,
turning to seek the solitaire, whose medical skill I had not
before thought of.

" But the doctor had anticipated me, and was already bend-
ing earnestly over the sick girl.

254 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

"'You!' ejaculated the old man, starting back with sur-
prise and fear, as the hermit stood before her. ' Good heavens !
what does all this mean — where am I ?'

" But the doctor was too much occupied with his patient
to heed the words. Flying, almost, in his eagerness, he sought
some medicines, which he as hastily and nervously administered.

" ' Save her ! save her !' cried the old man, ' for it is you
who have killed her !'

" ' I, who have killed her ! I, who would have given my
life to serve her idlest pleasure !'

" ' Yes, you ! By your unreasonable doubts, and your in-
sane folly, crediting the rumours of the world, above her own
pure and truthful nature. Listen to her wild ravings ! What
does she say? Is a love which can be so wounded, and yet
so devoted, to be trampled upon at the first idle breath of
slander ?'

"The poor solitaire did listen, and his strong frame, invigo-
rated by unceasing exercise in the forest air, shook like a reed
with the deep agitation of his thought. Anguish and joy,
remorse and hope, seemed alternately to tear his soul.

" Tremblingly clutching the pulse of the sick girl, he seized
the old man's hand, and he gasped, ' Forgive me, and teach her,
too, to pardon, for I — I also have suffered !'

" ' Alas, alas !' was the only response of the sorrowing
parent, ' she will not live to pardon.'

" ' Not live ! She shall live !' cried the doctor, in a tone
of such indomitable will, as of itself to bring hope to the old
man's heart.

"I had opened the fallen locket, and the picture %vithin
would alone have told me part of the tale which this scene
unfolded, and which the wondering and happy eyes of the
invalid concluded when they opened with returning conscious-
ness, and rested upon the expressive face of the young doctor.

THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 255

"I need not pursue my narrative, to tell you of the fair
traveller's recovery, of the mutual explanations which followed,
of the changed humour of the melancholy hermit, and of the
ultimate loss to the Adirondacks of one of the most interesting
and useful of its population."

"Certainly a very affecting and instructive story," said Mr.

Brownoker, "but I wonder, that in all my long rambles in the

Adirondacks, I never should have heard a syllable of the

wonderful hermit, and have never once set eyes upon his
mysterious cottage orne^

"That," replied Mr. Asphaltum, "is because you do not
see things with the true poetic vision."

"A primrose by the riyer's brim,
A yello-w primrose is to him ;
And it is nothing more,"

said Professor Scumble, as our friends, like Dr. Blimber's
pupils, began to " ooze away."

i

CHAPTER XIII.

"Nothing more easy," said Mr. Megilp, "now fhat we are
leaving the Adirondacks, than to push across the sunny waters
of Lake Champlain, into the comfortable domains of 'Down
East,' The change, too, from the privations of our late rough
hunting grounds, to the sleek comforts of New England domes-
ticity, will make a welcome contrast."

" Patience, my dear fellow," said the Spartan chair. " That
is a lonne bouche to be kept for the last. In the mean time,
we have to run over that important pictorial sub-section of the
republic, which the geographies call the Middle States, and
of which Pennsylvania is the 'key-stone,' and little Delaware,
and most maligned New Jersey, valuable ' bricks.' Maryland,
too, though appertaining in some respects to the Southern
household, is a near cousin of this branch of the family. And
our own glorious home, which comes under the same classifica-
tion, claims yet a tribute from our hands, in addition to the
many pleasant things we have been already constrained to say
of her. But the natural beauties of the Empire State are so
various, and of such pre-eminent interest, that we cannot pre-
tend to do more than glance at them. On our way to Pennsyl-
17

258 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

vania, we can delight our souls with the world-wide grandeur
of the highlanded Hudson, and the verdant slopes and rugged
bluffs of the untiring Catskills ; neither of Avhich leading
episodes in our landscape, have we yet deigned to notice.
Fortunately for us, they are both so familiarly known, as to
require only passing mention.

"We have in our portfolio a beautiful picture of the Cats-
kill region, from the magic pencil of our revered Prince of
Landscapists— the lamented Cole.* The scene is a memorable
one, lying near the mouth of the Catskill creek, those pictur-
esque waters, which after dropping, in so many romantic and
renowned cascades, through the gorges and glens of the noble
hills westward, lend such additional charms to the sweet valley
of the Hudson, in their gleesome journey to the great river.
The material for pictorial study is so abundant and rich among
the Catskills, that their summits and cloves have always been
a favourite summer studio for our painters. Most of us have
passed live-long months in their solitary glens. I was, myself,
at one time, sketching here by the road-side, with two or three
fellow daubers, at intervals, hard by, when casting my eye
upon a passing vehicle, I descried the person, and caught the
voice, of a city acquaintance. Amused to meet me so unex-
pectedly, after he had successively encountered my companions,
he exclaimed, calling me by name:

'"Halloa! is that you Deepredde? Now, by the gods,
I have often heard that these hills are infested by painters-
vulgarism for panther— and I must, at last, believe the story !'

"Frequently in traversing a gorge of the Catskills, every
turn has either brought me upon an enraptured student, or has
shown me the traces of one, in an unfinished canvass, carefully
secreted in the cavities of the rocks; or in scattered egg-shells
and other restes of their frugal noon-tide bivouacs."

* See Vignette.

THE AL!*rA MATER OF THE PAINTERS. 259

"Ah, you touch a happy chord now in the painter's expe-
rience," said Mr. Flakewhite. " Those genial days of summer
vagabondage, wandering with sketch-box and staff over quiet
smiling hill and dale, with no thoughts but those of beauty
and pleasure : unmindful alike of coy patrons and snarling
critics."

"The Catskills were a cherished haunt of our great Cole,
who lived and died in their namesake village, near by," resumed
the chairman. " Many of his finest pictures were studied here ;
and here he gathered much of the material of his famous epics
of ' The Course of Empire,' and ' The Voyage of Life.' Here,
too, our beloved living leader, Durand, who, with Cole and
Doughty, form the great parent triumvirate of the present prom
ising school of American landscapists, has studied with immor-
tal success.

"All the younger painters, too, have drunk deeply of the
same inspiring fountain. Here, Cropsey and Kensett have
lovingly pored over the intricate and marvellous wonders of
running waters and mossy rocks. Here, Church has looked
abroad upon the glories of the rising and the setting sun. Here,
too, Gifford has gathered strength for great achievement; while
Casilear, and Gignoux, and Huntington, and Boutelle, and
Hubbard, and Hart, and Cranch, with many others of our gifted
brothers, look back to the Catskills as the kind alma mater of
their professional life.

" But we linger too long. Farewell, gallant hills ! and all
hail ! ye brave brotherhood, down there in the grand passes of
the Highlands ! ye rugged Breakneck ! ye storied Crownest !
and ye venerable old Dunderburg ! Welcome all, ye hundred
sweet whispers of stirring history, and poetic tradition, which,
everywhere, reach us from wave and shore, as we float over
the deep clear waters towards the busy city."

" While Deepredde makes his way down the Hudson,"

260 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAlJir LANDSCAPE.

said Mr. Vermeille, "I, with your good leave, will take another
route, following the rapid rail, via Trenton and Gennesee, to
Niagara, and returning, through that world of winsome scenery,
upon the upper Susquehanna, and the hill-caged Delaware,
traversed by the five hundred iron miles of the Erie Eoad.

"The great cataract is beyond my eulogy. I cannot do
justice to the subject, as the celebrated swearer said, turning
despairingly to the crowd of expectant archins, when on reach-
ing the brow of a weary hill, the back-board of his apple-cart
gave way, and all its treasured contents rolled down again to
the bottom. So we will leave Niagara to thunder its own great

glory.

"The long route of the Erie Railway has opened a region
of very changeful character. Here you dash through the broad
valleys, watered by the Susquehanna and its affluents, and
past the numberless quiet lakes of Western New York; and
anon, you are buried in the wilderness of the brawling Dela-
ware. WhUe the chairman makes his way to the landscape of
the Keystone State, through New Jersey, or via Philadelphia
and Harrisburg, I will cut across the country, from some point
on the Erie Road, and meet him in the fair Valley of Wyoming,
that first of Nature's altars there."

" We could not have a better rendezvous," said Mr. Deep-
redde, "than fair Wyoming, the home of the mythical Gertrude,
and the culminating point of the picturesque on the Susque-
hanna, the noblest of those graphic rivers which form the chief
sources of natural beauty in the Keystone State. She has no
lake scenery except some fifty miles of the waters of the great
Erie on her north-western boundary, though the stranger looking
down, in early morning from the hill-tops, to the beds of dense,
white fog spread over the low grounds, might think otherwise,
until he grew wiser. It is only thus in our fancy that we may
here see, as Campbell's noted vision saw, ' Lake after lake,

THE RIVERS OF PENNSYLVANIA. 261

interminably gleam.' She has no striking cascades either, and
her best mountain and valley views are seen from her river
levels, or from the neighbouring heights ; but the charming phy-
sique of the Susquehanna, the West Branch, and the Juniata—
of the Delaware and its aflfluents, the Lehigh and the Schuylkill,
is rich compensation for what she has not.

"The two great branches of the Susquehanna unite at the
pleasant village of Northumberland, of which our portfolio
furnishes us an agreeable picture, by the veteran Bartlett.
Through the whole course of tliese arms, and thence to the
Chesapeake Bay, it is more or less attractive; though its
finest portions are above the junction — perhaps at Wyoming,
and yet more particularly within the ten or twelve miles imme-
diately south of that celebrated valley. At this point, the
mountain shores soar to a bold and commanding height, and
are exceedingly graceful in their lines: while the wooded
islands, of liberal occurrence, add infinitely to the picturesque
effect. Wyoming, which is an extremely fertile plain of twenty
miles extent, is usually seen by tourists from the high hills
back of the village of Wilkesbarre, though the most pleasing,
if not the widest, view is to be had from the lofty grounds
near Nanticoke, at the lower extremity of the valley, and at the
entrance of that varied passage of the river to which I have
just referred. Here the current is narrow, and, excepting when
broken by shoals or rapids, is of unusual depth. Lower down,
the river bed widens greatly, sometimes forming broad lake-
like reaches. There sand-bars stretch out for a long distance,
and so shallow, often, is the water, that the cattle groups, in
hot summer days, wander out so far from the shore that they
look like small moving islands.

" The Juniata, one of the chief tributaries of the Susque-
hanna, though inferior to that stream in pictorial wealth, is still
stored with effective and winsome scenes. Mr. Murray, the dis-

262 THE KOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE,

tinguished English tourist, said, after his first view of this fine
river, ' To my shame be it spoken, I never heard of the Juniata
until this day.'"

" The blue Juniata," said Scumble, humming, sotto voce,
the popular air of that name.

" It flows like most of its sister waters through fertile lime-
stone valleys, shadowed by mountain ridges, in which iron
ore is always abundant. None of these rivers are navigable,
excepting the Delaware to Philadelphia. But canals have long
followed their windings, and now railways are speedily increas-
ing the facilities of travel and transportation."

" Allow me a moment," said Mr. Megilp, " to recall a thought
of the pleasant days which I have passed on the Delaware, and
particularly at that imposing scene, the great "Water-gap. At this
point, the river traverses the Blue Kidge through a grand gorge
of two miles extent. On all sides, it is here hemmed in by huge
precipices, which tower to the lofty height of twelve hundred,
and even sixteen hundred feet, while space is scarcely left for
public way between their base and the water. Seen from many
of the higher situations around, this passage presents numerous
striking studies for the painter.

"Not far remote, the Lehigh makes a similar break through
the mountains, opening another volume of interesting pictures.
This river, though smaller by far than those of which we have
already spoken, is scarcely less charming. In its whole rugged
mountain course, the changing scene is often impressive, and
always picturesque.

" The Schuylkill, too, is a beautiful stream, though, except-
ing in its upper waters, it is of a more peaceful character than
the Lehigh. It traverses the rich agricultural districts about
Philadelphia, and greets the Delaware a few miles below that
city. Near the capital, by the way, is a sweet little brooklet,
called the Wissahiccon. It is an humble vassal of the Schuyl-

DELAWARE AND NEW JERSEY. 263

kill, but is held in high regard for its romantic beauties, and
for the pleasant drives along its shadj banks. The artists of
Philadelphia know it well, and love it better than many a more
nmbitious torrent."

"We must not forget 'Little Delaware,'" said Mr. Brown-
oker, " though she offers us but the widow's mite in the way
of landscape attraction. Yet this mite, as we find it along the
romantic shores of the famous Brandywine, is well worth the
having. Then, too, there are many scenes within her Lillipu-
tian borders, which tell stirring tales of the olden time — the
trying times when, as Scumble might say, our fathers were
'striking for the green graves of their sii'es, God, and their
native land.'"

"Or New Jersey — maligned Jersey," added the chairman.
"Many portions of her ostracized territory are flat enough to
be sure, but think of the mountains and lakes in the northern
districts : of fair Eamapo, of placid Greenwood, Wywayandah,
Mackopin, and adjacent waters. Then, too, she has a share
of the Delaware and its "Water-gap, and the Palisades of the
Hudson are part of her dower, though, to be sure, she has to
cross over to the Empire State to see these jewels. But there
is one ^charming spot, which is all her own — those famous falls
of the Passaic at Patterson ; and besides that, her lonof varied
stretches of sea-coast, ending in that much prized resort for
worn-out citizens. Cape May."

"Since the chairman has reached the jumping-off place of
the Jerseys," said Mr. Vermeille, "I will wind up our topogra-
phy of the Middle States, with a peep at the hills and streams
of fair Maryland. Her mountain peaks extending through
the narrow western strip of her domain, are not of very sa-
lient elevation, though rich in beauty, to the eye which will
explore their solitary recesses. The Potomac and Patapsco,
and the Patuxent Rivers have gathered, upon their shores, the

264 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

finest incidents in the picturesque of Maryland, The good
people of Baltimore think very much of the rural charms
which we ever find on the Patapsco at Ellicott's Mills, not far
from their city homes. Just below, there is, you remember,
an imposing viaduct of grand arches, which conducts the rail-
ways of Washington across the wide valley of Gwyn's Falls.

" The artist may pick up pleasing bits everywhere in this
pleasant land, though it is not the region he would deliberately
select for study."

" We must not leave this latitude," said Mr. Deepredde,
" without a mention of the vast coal and iron beds of Pennsyl-
vania, which are not only themselves quite a striking feature
in the landscape, but have produced some other notable indi-
viduality, the canal scenery. The mining and transportation of
coal is the chief business of life throughout all the great anthra-
cite region we have travelled in our successful search for the
picturesque between the shores of the Susquehanna and the
Delaware, Seeing the begrimed faces of the groups of miners
coming from their work may, sometimes, lead you, for a mo-
ment, to think you are again traversing the cotton lands of the
South. Boating on the canals has no little influence upon the
manners and character of the population, since it seems to be
a law of nature among the youth here, to spend a certain part
of their years in this sort of life, as in Prussia it is a law of
the land that every one shall for a season be a soldier."

" Speaking of the Pennsylvania canals," said Mr. Megilp,
•' recalls to my mind a little incident of travel in which I had
the good fortune to remove some dangerous snags from the
current of true, though humble love. It is a simple instance of

love's labour won. 265

ITok's ITabour Mm.

"We were weather-bound — my friend and I — at a quiet
country inn on Susquehanna's side. The hospitable people
did their best to make us comfortable, and we, accordinsr to
our habit, seconded their generous endeavour to the utmost
of our philosophy and ability ; but the united ' pull' was rather
ineffectual. It would have been entirely so, but for the grace
and wit and good humour of our hostess's daughter, a ruddy
lass, who poured out our coffee, made our beds, and was
obliging enough to laugh at all our poor jokes.

"In her desire to make us at home, Sarah Jane had re-
signed to our use her own little boudoir, as we saw at once,
in the many subtle indications of female occupancy: not so
much the various mystic garments which bedecked the low
white walls, as the neat fringed window curtains, the pretty
easy tidy-covered rocking chair, the dainty little toilette stand,
with its budding rose blossoms, its bottle of nice perfume, its
bits of ribbon, and the stray hair pins, here and there, and more
especially, the general indescribable air and aroma of the apart-
ment. Here were some books, too : a morocco bible, received
as a reward of merit from a Sabbath school, a little collection
of gems from the poets, particularly the blighted ones — the
gems, not the poets ; a carefully preserved album, nearly empty ;
a 'Love's Token, from J. B. ;' a daguerreotype — probably
'J. B.' himself ; and several interesting, though rather ancient
annuals, among them a well worn ' Farmer's Almanac'

"All these things, from the wardrobe to the calendar,
amused us but for a moment, and we looked about for other
inspiration. It seemed to come at our wish, when, as we

266 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

opened the little drawer of tlie toilette, our greedy eyes fell
upon a packet of letters, finished and unfinished, and in a
lady's hand.

" It was very naughty in us to look at more than the out-
sides of these sacred missives, but what could we do ? We
were expiring with ennui, and then, too, they might concern
Sarah Jane, and we took a lively interest in Sarah Jane. On
examination, Sarah Jane's they truly seemed to be, either as
the work of her own hands, or as the gift of another. We
perused them with glowing interest, for, supposing them to be
hers, they explained to us that pensive grace which so sweetly
toned her naturally buoyant nature — that store of secret sad
thought and experience which gave so much repose to her
manner. It was an oft-told tale of love and disappointment,
' J. B.,' the donor of the ' Token' already mentioned, proved to
be Joseph Brown, once genuinely attached to Sarah Jane, as
she to him, but misunderstandings — foolish enough, no doubt —
had sent Joseph off, in a huff and a hurry, to the war in
Mexico. From the date of his farewell letter — a most affecting-
document — it appeared to be about a year and a half since his
rash flight ; but to poor Sally it was evidently a whole epoch
of time ; at least so said the numerous unsent epistles which
the drawer exposed.

" After supplying, by our imagination, all the missing links
in the drama before us, we taxed our brain, like good knights-
errant, for some means of assisting, or, at least, of consoling
Sarah Jane ; without, of course, betraying any knowledge of
her hidden story. At last, we struck a vein, and retired to
rest, to work it in our dreams.

" The next morning, as we were smoking our cigars in the
little dining-room, and watching Sarah Jane as she cleared
and put away the table things, I expressed to my companion a
wonder as to the whereabouts and doings of our friend Brown.

love's labour WON". 267

"Sarah Jane looked up as I spoke, and with some sign of
interest, when my chum replied, carelessly:

" ' What, Joe ? Oh, I suppose he has picked up some
pretty senorita in Mexico, and settled down to domestic

life.'

" ' Not he !' I added. ' Don't you remember how despe-
rately in love he was with some girl or other, here, at home?'

" ' Oh, yes, I remember very well, but she jilted him ;
flirted with a rival beau, or did some other diabolical thing!
It was that which sent him off, and of course he wouldn't hurry
back on her account.'

"Our dialogue had won so suddenly and so deej)ly on
Sarah Jane's attention, that, at this point, the cream-jug fell
from her hand to the floor with a fotal smash ; but she did not
observe the accident, as she exclaimed, with eagerness half to
herself, and half to us:

"'He deceived himself! I— she — the girl, I mean, didn't
jilt him, or flirt with somebody else — that is, she didn't mean
to, and he ought to have known better! I — the girl, I mean,
always loved him better than '

" Here she paused abruptly, becoming conscious of the odd
confidence into which her excited feelings were betraying her ;
and we to release her embarrassment, assured her that our Joe
Brown could not have any relation whatever to her friend's
self-defended truant.

" ' But now that I think of it, he viay, possibly, be the
very one,' said I, when Sarah Jane had regained her usual
composure. ' I have heard him speak of the Susquehanna as
his native river.'

" ' Of course,' said my companion, ' he used to live just
about this very neighbourhood !'

" ' What sort of a looking man was he you are thinking
of?' said I to Sarah Jane. ' A tall, handsome chap, large eyes,

268 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

fine nose, curly hair, and so-forth?' describing the daguerreo-
type we had found up stairs.

" ' Yes ! yes, exactly ! His hair is as black and curly as —
as it can be ; he has very black eyes, a beautiful mouth — ^but
you would know him, in a minute, by a large scar just above
his right eye.'

" ' Why !' I exclaimed, ' it must surely be our very friend
Joe, whom we met at New Orleans about a year and a half
ago. He was just such a man ; had just such a scar on his
face!'

" ' Yes, it is he !' said Sarah Jane, abstractedly.

" ' And does the girl he was engaged to,' I asked, ' love
him still?'

" ' O, yes ; I'm sure she does ; but he does not believe it.'

" ' Well,' said I, ' if I can find him out, I'll take care that
he shall believe it.'

" ' 0, dear, no ! not for the world. You mustn't do any
such thing ! I — that is, she — wouldn't have you tell him so
for anything.'

" At this moment the entrance of mamma put a stop to
our dialogue, but we managed to renew it on various occasions
during our few days' sojourn, and so effectually as to completely
win our fair friend's simple confidence, even to the frank confes-
sion that she, herself, was the deserted flame of the misguided
runaway. We became so much interested in her story and
character, in the picture she drew of her lover, that we were
perfectly convinced that if Brown still lived, time, and a
true affection, would bring him back again ; and we mentally
vowed to assist time in this process, without thinking how
unlikely it was, that we should find any means of effecting
such a chimerical design.

" In this conviction and purpose, we bade good-bye to our
pretty friend, with words of hope, and with assurances that all

love's labour won. 269

would yet be well, and her own constancy be rewarded by
the return of Joe with heart as true as ever.

" "Weeks slipped away, and the changing incidents of travel,
the charm of new adventures and new acquaintance, had quite
obscured, if not obliterated, the memory of our rencontre with
Sarah Jane ; though our regard for her, at the time, was sin-
cere enough.

" Travellers soon learn to take a quick and personal interest
in all they meet, and in the many little affairs in which acci-
dent may for an instant mingle them. And happy it is for
them, that, denied the delight of continued loves, they are thus
able to form fleeting ones ; to divide among many, the pen-
chants they are by circumstance forbidden to bestow only on
a few. Miserable fellows, indeed, would they be, could they
not thus carry their affections with them, and both give and
withdraw their loves as time and place command. And so far
from this disposition being a sign of heartlessness, it is the best
evidence of an affectionate nature ; showing, as it does, a
necessity of love and sympathy, superior to the worst obstacles
to its manifestation. Thus was it with ourselves : though, at
the moment, we would have given our whole souls to serve
Sarah Jane, yet when we had left her, we found another Sarah
Jane, and so on, happily, forever.

"But I meant to give you a story, and not an essay.
Weeks, I have said, had passed — months, indeed ; the summer
which we had begun on the head-waters of the Susquehanna,
was now waning, finding us, to be sure, still on the shores of
the giant ' crooked river,' but hundreds of miles below our
starting point. Thus far our journey had been without let or
hindrance, but at the moment of which I now speak we were

270 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

on the eve of an adventure — an adventure very unusual for
that vicinity.

" We were on foot, as we had been most of the season, and
being anxious to reach a certain point before halting, were
walking longer after night-fall than was our custom. Gener-
ally, it mattered but little to us how late we kept the road,
but on this occasion, we did not, through some influence or
other, feel quite at our ease. Since dusk we had felt annoyed
by the dogged pursuit of a couple of gallows-looking pedes-
trians ; and the moon, who, per promise of her calendar,
should have been our friend, hid herself suddenly behind
huge banks of gloomy black cloud — making the forms and
faces of our questionable companions more unpleasing than
ever. Yet we laughed at our half-expressed fear of an attack
from them. The mere idea of the verdancy which would seek
to rob a strolling painter, was convulsive in its drollery. Then
I bethought me of my adventure with the imaginary highway-
men, which I related to you when we were on the Ohio. I
was inwardly laughing at that remembrance, as our road led
us into the depths of a thick copse, which stretched for some
distance along the river bank. I had barely time, as we en-
tered its gloomy recesses, to call the notice of my friend to
the accelerated approach of our ugly followers, before I saw
him struggling with one of the miscreants, and found myself
parrying the hearty blows of the other. The contest was very
unequal ; they were heavy stalwart chaps, and we were par-
tially disarmed by the paraphernalia of our travelling baggage,
sketch-boxes, and the like. We were beginning to chuckle
over the coming disappointment of our assailants, as they
should explore our meagre purses, when just at that moment,
the faithless moon came to the rescue, shedding a flood of
light upon the scene; and what was still more to the pur-
pose, revealing the approach of yet another traveller. The

love's labour won. 271

merest glance told us, as by instinct, that tlie new-comer was
a friend, and uttering the first words whicli had as yet been
spoken, we called upon him for help. A few lusty whacks, to
the rigbt and left, of his willing staff, aided by the increased
vigour of our own blows, soon did the business, and left us to
watch the flying retreat of our assailants with a feeling of
intense satisfaction.

"We were then within a mile of our destined halt, and
as our gallant defender was also looking for quarters, we per-
suaded him to accompany us, and, at least, be our guest for the
night, since he refused other acknowledgment of the timely
service which he had so heartily rendered us. To this he
consented, and as we began to know him better, over our
coffee and cakes, we were glad of the acquaintance for other
reasons than his late good aid ; for he proved to be one of
those genial, intelligent, and experienced travellers, whom
fellow-voyagers so much like to meet.

" Our first gossip, of course, related to the circumstances of
the late assault, and to expression of surprise that such an
incident should have happened in this usually quiet and secure
region.

" ' The business of the canals,' said our strange friend,
' infests the country with gangs of lawless foreigners, who will
use any safe chance to better their beggarly fortunes. Yet,
whoever the rascals may be, I am vexed that such an outrage
should have occurred on the banks of old Sus', my native
river; more beautiful, and more dear to me, than all of the
many greater waters I have seen.'

"Here he entertained us with reminiscences of the Neuces,
the Rio Grande, the Colorado, and other streams in Texas and
Mexico, from which countries it appeared he was even then
returning; but every few sentences would bring him back to
the winding Susquehanna,

272 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE,

" We spoke of our own long explorations of the old river,
from its sources, even to tlie point where we then were.

" * Ah !' said the stranger. ' In such a minute journey, you
may possibly have tarried at the little village of B .'

" ' 0, yes ! we passed some very agreeable days at the cozy
inn there.'

" ' Indeed ! then you may tell me some news, which I
should like to hear, for I — I once spent some happy hours
there myself. Are the old folks of the inn — alive and — well?'

"'Jolly as need be!' we answered, 'at least they were so
some weeks only ago.'

" ' And their daughter — they had a '

" ' O, yes ! Sarah Jane ! a pretty, clever girl ; though silly
enough to sigh herself to sadness, for some shabby scoundrel,
who stole her heart, and then deserted her. By the way, we
have her portrait in our sketch-books.'

" ' Perhaps you will let me see it ?' said our new friend,
with eager interest.

" ' Certainly,' we answered, and diving into our knapsacks,
we brought forth the sketch.

" After a long and silent contemplation of the picture,
which was a capital likeness, he turned to us, saying: 'You
have generously offered me a reward for the slight service I
have had the luck to render you to-night — will you make me
the debtor, instead of yourselves, by giving me this sketch ?'

" ' With the greatest pleasure,' I replied, now fully satisfied
of a fact, which the last few moments had led me to suspect,
and which a glance showed me to have also entered the noddle
of my companion. With this clue once given, we rapidly re-
called in the stranger's face, the traits of the daguerreotype we
had found in Sarah Jane's drawer; though time and travel
had greatly changed his appearance. Still, so certain were we
of the truth of our surmise, that we knew as much before,

love's labour won. 273

as after, our friend had told us that his name was Joseph
Brown !

"I will not fatigue you with the details of the manner in
which it pleased us to tell Joseph the story of our visit to the
home of his lady-love, and the yet more welcome news of her
continued affection for him; or the words in which he spoke
to us of the unhappy circumstances which had made him an
exile from the heart he still sighed to call his own. Suffice it
to say, that we easily persuaded him to abandon his purpose
of never more seeing Sarah Jane; while we cautioned him to
keep the secret, for a while, of his acquaintance with ourselves,
beyond a plea of guilty— should he be *so charged— of casually
meeting us in New Orleans, at the commencement of his
wanderings !

"At parting, we gave Joseph our address in exchange for
a promise to inform us when our ' love's labour' should be won.
This desired intelligence we received, not long after, in a joint
letter from Joseph and Sarah Jane, inviting our presence at a
certain interesting ceremony; or, in default, claiming as early
a visit as possible, to our old haunts on the Susquehanna ; the
damsel maliciously added, that she should not be able to give
us her own little boudoir again, seeing, not only, that it would
not henceforth be a 'spare-room,' but that she could not trust
such very inquisitive people among her secrets! This sly
allusion to our impudent curiosity in reading her letters — of
which Joseph, the ungrateful dog, had, despite his promise,
told her — has always made me regret the many occupations
which, to this day, have denied me an opportunity to receive
from her own lips, the pardon long since accorded in the mes-
sages which I continued, and, indeed, still occasionally continue,
to receive from her."

" My love to Sarah Jane," said Mr. Brownokcr, replenishing

his glass, and passing the sherry to Megilp, as he ended his
18

274 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

romantic anecdote. " The next time I go that way I will give

her a call."

"And I, and I, and I!" added the rest of the brotherhood,
severally and collectively. "And here's good luck to Joseph,

too !"

"Sarah Jane" thus disposed of, our friends were about to
separate, when Professor Scumble unfortunately alluded to a
record we once made of some rather amusing incidents which
transpired in the Quaker City; and which, none of the com-
pany happening to know, we were unanimously called upon

to rehearse.

"The story," said Mr. Flakewhite, "will be apropos as we
halt in Philadelphia, on our return from the Susquehanna."

We objected that it would be but a " twice told tale ;" but
our scruples being arbitrarily overruled, and as it was still only
the "edge of the evening," and something was needed, pour
passer le temps, we reluctantly rummaged over our old manu-
scripts, and produced the following account of

r. f rotoii'B Strateja*

"No! I tell you, I will be a match for her; I'll play
Petruchio to her Katharine! A wife usurp my prerogative!
take the ribbons out of my hands! I, Frank Morton, bow to
a woman's rule! Ha, ha! droll— very— 'pon my soul— very
droll— No! no, ladies,

"Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal of the tyrant wife :
Who has no will but by her high permission ;
"Who has not sixpence, but in her possession ;

ME. brown's strategy. 275

Who must to her his dear friend's secrets tell ;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than h-U !
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd crush her spirit, or I'd break her heart 1"

There, you have the sentiments of poor Burns, with my hearty
endorsement. I, a henpecked husband ! Hercules, an infant —
Leonidas, a coward — ^Washington a traitor, and Mrs. Macbeth a
saint !"

" Ha, ha, Frank ! you may talk and laugh and jest — you
may flatter yourself as you please, but it Avon't do, brother
mine ; just marry Isadora Cruston — marry Isadora Cruston —

you'll see "

"Yes, marry Isadora I" from a second soft voice; "marry
Isadora! Isadora! marry Isadora!" from a whole host of fair

lips — " Isadora ! Marry Isad ^"

" Tut, tut, tut ladies ! I cry you mercy ! My poor ears are
only flesh and blood ! You are all prejudiced ; all wrong. Isadora
a shrew! preposterous! as I will prove to you — but there she goes
now, past the window, on her way home ! I must join her —
adieu, ladies — may you never find in a husband more of a tyrant
than I shall have in Isadora Cruston — au revoir .'"

" Good bye, but mark us — marry Isadora ^"

"Again farewell — ^I'm off!"

"Isadora Crus "

" Bah !"

"Marry Isado ah! he's off!"

And so, dear reader, he was off, and by the side of the fair
belle aforesaid ; and, of course, we cannot join them until we
become better acquainted with the parties. The preceding war
of jests arose from a slight difference of opinion between Mr.
Frank Morton, and his sister and other fair friends, touching
the docility of his lady-love. Miss Isadora Cruston. Isadora
was a dashing belle, and Frank a dashing beau. Isadora had

276 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

set her cap for Frank ; and Frank, thougli he had escaped
many similar snares, had very stupidly popped his silly head
therein. Thus Isadora was the envy of all her fair associates,
who, very willingly, vented their spleen in owlish predictions
for the future.

Frank had long remained a bachelor, from the avowed
fear of finding only a termagant in a wife ; which was, of
course, a gracious compliment to the many who were ready to
prove to him the folly of his doubts, and to vindicate the char-
acter of their sex. In Isadora, he fondly hoped, he had at last
found the ingenuous and confiding creature for whom his heart
yearned, and he was bent upon calling her his wife.

We are now, perhaps, sufficiently intimate with the be-
trothed to follow them into the parlour of the lady's mansion,
which they were not long in reaching.

Isadora has tossed her hat to her obedient lover, but why
it should pass through his hands to the table, he does not pre-
cisely comprehend. Despite his desire that she should take a
seat by his side upon a sofa, she has placed herself at the
piano, and has summoned him to turn the leaves of her music-
book, a task which, it occurs to his mind, she might more effec-
tually perform herself. Yet he banishes the preposterous
reflection, and begs that she will sing for him the pretty
song, "Thou, thou reignest in this bosom."

At this sentimental demand, the gay lady bursts into an
unconquerable fit of merriment, and with a slight sneer re-
plies, "I will sing something quite as novel and more sensible —
listen !"

" The lords of creation men we call,
And say they rule the whole ;
But they find after all, whatever they do,
They are under woman's control — ole — ole,
They are under woman's control !"

MR. brown's strategy. 277

Frank thought of tho party which he had just left; but,
alas! the bewitching eyes of the fair tyrant, at the same in-
stant, met his own, and he

" Was under woman's coatrol^-ole — ole,
He was under ■woman's control I"

"Now Frank, is not that much more rational than such
worn-out, lackadaisical stuff as that you wish to hear ?"

"Wliy, my love, I don't say that "

" You can't say ! why, you won't allow me the least taste in
the world ! You used to praise my singing, be it what it
might,"

" Well, my love, it is a pretty song— certainly very pretty ;
indeed, one of the prettiest I have ever heard. Every thing is
beautiful from your lips; sing as you please, I would still, as
Shakspeare says, have you ever sing so!"

"Oh! very gallant, to be sure, sir; but you do not like it,
after all. You have no sympathy, no appreciation for my
tastes. We have opposite fancies in every thing, and shall
never be happy together."

"Pardon mc, Isadora, if I have unintentionally offended
you — I did not think to do so. I consider your taste and judg-
ment to be always and in all things faultless and infallible.
But, Isadora, dearest— now don't be angry— that song reminded

me of what they were saying at Mrs. just before I joined

you in the street ; but, pshaw ! that's all nonsense ; I'll not

repeat it."

"Why, Frank, what were they saying about me?"
"Oh! I'll not remember it, dear — 'tis too absurd!"
"But you must tell me, Frank!"
" No, no, dear — 'tis too silly."
"But I will hear it."
"Do ex "

278 THE ROMANCE OP AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

"Not a word! You excite my curiosity, and refuse to gratify
it. It's just like you ; you have no regard for my feelings. You
take a pleasure in teasing me."

"But it will only offend you, Isad "

"You will offend me more if you do not tell me directly.
I will know what they said."

" Well then, dearest, if I must repeat it— they hinted— they
insinuated— ha, ha, ha, only think of the idea— capital joke, 'pon
my soul!— they suggested that you— you, Isadora, my angel,
would — would ^"

"For heaven's sake would what, sir?"

"Would prove to be a very queen of termagants!"

" Oh ! the slanderers— the malicious vilifiers ! I wish I could
tear their eyes out — I do!"

"Isadora!"

" And you, sir, heard it all patiently and smilingly, and did
not attempt to defend me! Oh! dear; why did I ever love
such an unfeeling creature !"

" Why, to tell the truth, dear "

" Don't speak to me ! You do not care a straw for me, it's

as plain as "

"Forgive me, love; the truth is, as I was going to say, that
I thought the idea too absurd to be angry at it ; and, besides, I
knew they were only jesting. They cannot really hold such a
ridiculous opinion of you, any more than I do."

"Well, Frank, I will believe you and forgive you, on one

condition. Promise me, on your honour, not to go there again!"

"But, Isadora, that would be foolish and unkind; they are

my best friends — they are "

" The slanderers of your ' angel'— your ' only hope in life'—
as you gallantly call her; yes! sacrifice me to your dear friends

— do, I beg of you "

"Isadora, you attach too much import to a trifle; but I

ME. brown's strategy. 279

cannot refuse you anytliing— you are my only treasure— and I
promise "

"Sacredly?"

" Most religiously, dearest !"

"Oh, Frank! it is now my turn to ask forgiveness. Now, I
know that you do indeed love me, and I will not doubt it

again."

" We will then forget them all, dear ; and, for the atonement
which you offer me, I will but abridge your days of freedom a
little. You shall prove your forgiveness of my fl\ult, and gam
a pardon for your own, by a speedy appointment of our bridal.
You know that you have half promised that it shall be next
Thursda}^, my birthday; now say positively that that shall be
the happy hour."

"Thursday! I'm sure I did not say Thursday!"

" But, my love, that is an interesting time to you— my birth-
day ought certainly "

" I don't like Thursday ; it shall be the next day !"

" Friday, Isadora ! But that, you know, is an unlucky day."

"What day can be unlucky which crowns your most earnest
hopes. It shall be only Friday."

" How perverse you are, Isadora."

"Yes! every thing I do or say is stupid."

"I mean— I mean— I was only jesting, dear. You know
best, and it shall then be Friday."

" No, you don't like Friday ; you say it is unhappy, and you
fear the results. I won't have Friday!"

"Well then, my love, Saturday."

" How overbearing you are, Frank, to be sure. Now do, for
mercy's sake, let me have my own way in this matter, at least.
It shall be on Monday afternoon."

" Monday ? "

280 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

"Yes, sir; Monday afternoon, and no other time — that's
decided; so don't say a single word more about it."

*' "Well, dearest, may heaven then hasten and bless next
Monday; and, Isadora, dear, we will be married at eight o'clock,

and at nine start off in the cars for B , as you proposed.

You see I let you make all the arrangements."

" Eight ! I'm sure I never said anything about eight o'clock ;
and I wouldn't be married at such an hour for the world.
Eight, indeed ! how could you think of such a thing, Frank. It
shall be ten; and we'll take the steamboat for C at noon."

"Agreed, dear; it shall be ten, that's all settled, and every
thing shall be quiet and private, as you desire."

"Private, Frank! What, a private wedding. "Why, Frank,
I vow I should feel that I was going to be buried ! Private,
indeed, I never said anything of the kind; but I see you are
determined to have it all your own way."

"I only thought, dearest, that you wished it to be so."

" No, I don't ! We must have a large party, and every
body must be invited. All the world are married in private,
now-a-days; but, for my part, I think that a wedding, at least
one like ours, should be accompanied by every token of glad-
ness and joy."

" So it should be — and so it shall be, love ; and the whole
world shall be there!"

" No ; I don't want such a jam as Ellen Brown had. She
says she wouldn't go through it again, for all the husbands in
creation. We will only have a very select number — very few."

" Arrange it then, my love, as you please. Make out the list
of names and I will help you with the cards. But now I must
leave you for a while. Business you know, Isadora, must not
be neglected even for love. Good-bye — good-bye, dear! What
a preposterous idea, Isa, that of Sydney Brown and his friends.

MR. brown's strategy. 281

We'll soon expose their folly— eli, Isadora— ha, ha, ha! God

bless you!"

The long wished-for Monday at length arrived. Ten o'clock
drew near. A large party was assembled in the gay parlours of
Mrs. Cruston's mansion ; among the guests, were all the friends
of the lovers, excepting only Mr. Sydney Brown, who to the
astonishment of every body, had not been invited. The bridal
ceremony passed off happily and merrily, and Frank Morton
beeame a fated Benedict. Congratulations and kisses, God-bless-
3-0US and Heaven-protect-yous, were duly exchanged ; noon came ;
the boat was ready; the happy couple waved farewell mouchoirs
to waving mouchoirs upon the shore, and were faii'ly off, on a
six months' bridal tour in Europe.

^ * •3fr * * * *

Six months were with the Past; during which many varied
events had happened; such as hopes delayed, visions fled, and
the opposites of fears dissipated, and joys consummated ; with all
other' appropriate lights and shades in half a year of the picture
of life. Among other items, and which is more interesting to
us, at this time, the steamer which had conveyed our friends
to Europe, had duly made her appointed trips to and fro, and
was now, again, dropping anchor at the wharf, after a homeward

voyage.

Among the passengers one stood apart, listlessly gazing over
the bulwarks of the vessel, as though it were a matter of life
and death to him, to arrive at an exact estimate of the number
of bubbles in the foaming waters below. The life and joy
which should sparkle in the eye of the returning exile, dwelt not
in his. His whole air was sad and hopeless. Neither in his
toilet was there visible any trace of the care and taste which
it was, nevertheless, very evident once belonged to the man.
The vessel was securely moored at the dock, and happy greet-
ings were swiftly flying from lip to lip, of long parted friends.

282 THE EOMANCE OF AMEKICAN LANDSCAPE.

All was animation and joy, excepting only with our solitaire.
He still mused apart, apparently unconscious that his native
land and the friends of his heart were awaiting his recognition
and kindly interchange of welcome. During his continued fit
of abstraction, a gentleman, from the shore, passed and re-passed,
gazing earnestly in his face, until at length, stopping abruptly
before the muser, he seized his hand, and shaking it with most
commendable heartiness, exclaimed — " I'm sure of it now ! 'tis
none other than he! Frank! Frank Morton, my old boy, how
the devil are you ? and who are you mourning for, with ' the
grief which passeth show ?' for though you look as though the
whole world and his wife were dead, I see no crapey trappings
about you !"

" "Wife — dead !" exclaimed the muser, as the words of the
speaker gave voice to his thoughts; and then perceiving the
presence of the stranger, the clouds fled from his brow, and he
cordially returned his salutation, exclaiming —

"Ah! Sydney, is that you! the first to welcome me home.
I am glad, very glad of it, for you are my best friend, and
youi; presence calls back the memory of more joyous days,"

"Thank you, Frank! that's a kind speech, and I'll take it
in atonement for the scurvy trick you played me, in cutting
me so unaccountably at the time of your marriage."

"Say no more about that, Sydney. It was not my fault;
indeed it was not. She "

"0! certainly, my dear boy! I thought your neglect con-
foundedly queer, to be sure, but I put it all down to the effect
of some cursed misunderstanding or other, which, however, I
concluded to let you enjoy all to yourself I see we are now
friends again, though; so let it go. What's the good of
obscuring present sunshine with the sour shadows of the past.
I was expecting you back about this time, the happiest dog in
the kennel of life, but I see, confound it, that your dog-days

MR. brown's strategy. 283

are fading. Come, discuss unto me; make a clean breast of it,
and I'll help you out of the scrape. Trouble always flies from
my footsteps; hates me like poison — out with it, Frank, out
with it!"

" Ah ! Sydney, I see that you are the same merry, joyous
fellow as ever. To meet you, makes me happy again."

'"Happy again,' Frank! "Why, have you been otherwise?
Is she dead?"

"Oh! no, no — come nearer — speak low — you remember our
conversation on that morning ?"

"Aye, to be sure! I've said the same things so often that I
cannot forget them. They are part of my creed. But how is
that confab apropos of the change which appears to have come
over the spirit of your dream? There's the mystery! I can
hardly believe that I see before me, the same dashing, hopeful,
devil-may-care Frank Morton, whom I knew in other days!
But that conversation ! Remember it ! "Why, I am still a
jolly old bachelor; ha, ha, ha! Remember it, aye!

'Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal of the tyrant wife I'

It's my morning and evening devotion, Frank! My elixir, my
shield, my everlasting buckler, the cosmetic which preserves
me as I am; jolly and fat as an alderman, and smiling as a
danseiLse! yes —

'Cursed be the man, the '"

"Stop, Sydney! for heaven's sake, stop! Don't curse TneT

"Eh! you! no! By the gods! I — I — no, you're joking;

aye, you're joking? You don't mean — By the powers! I

smell a mouse! Was I right? am I right? ha, ha, ha, hold

me! hold me! 'Tis too rich!"

284 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

"Alas! alas! My dear friend, you have divined but too
truly; be generous tliough, and spare me, I pray you, your
bitter raillery."

"Spare you, my poor deluded lamb! It's enough to kill me
with laughter, ha, ha, ha! It's too funny, Frank, for sympathy,
but I'll help you out of the scrape — I'll help you out, old
fellow!"

"You wUl!"

"To be sure! there's my hand!"

"It's of no use, Sydney; it's too late; the die is cast. I
thank you for your good will, but there is, alas, no help for it
now. She is — ^is — in short — why should I hesitate to confess it?
I shall not be at home a week before all the world will know
it as well as myself— she is a perfect shrew — a termagant — a

devil!"

"I knew it, Frank, before you spoke it. Ha! ha! my
beauteous Isadora. I read more than the ti-tle-page of your
disposition, which I am sorry my poor friend did not "

" Gently, Sydney ! She will hear us."

"Let her hear, Frank; she shall hear and see and feel more
yet ; I tell you I'll manage the business !"

"Are you in earnest, Sydney? I know you can do any-
thing."

"Of course I can; I'll fix it; I'll cure her; she shall
become a very pattern of gentleness, meekness, and obedience."

" Alas ! my friend, you are not a Hercules."

"Have not quite so much muscle certainly; but, let me
alone— I'll borrow a trifle of his 'kinted wit.' If I can't
cleanse these Augean stables of termagantism, I will rig up an
Euphrates to dash through them. By Jupiter! It will be a
glorious little piece of work, worthy of my genius. Be hopeful,
Frank; I'll soon make a rattling among the dry bones, I
promise you! Let's drink."

MR. brown's strategy. 285

"Hush, Sydney! Ilere comes Isadora's maid. Well, Jane,
wliat does your mistress want?"

"If you please, sir, slie says that you have been lounging
up here long enough, and that you must come into the cabin
directly."

"Oh! ye gods and little fishes!" muttered Sydney— "do
my ears deceive me!"

"Be quiet, my dear Sydney," interposed the husband; and
then turning to the maid, he added, "Tell Mrs. Morton that I
will be down directly."

"The devil you will!" interrupted the other, and then, ad-
dressing himself to Jane, "tell Mrs. Morton that her husband
is conversing with his old, cherished friend, Mr. Sydney Brown,
and cannot possibly oblige her at present. Mr. Sydney Brown,
remember, my dear."

"No, no, Sydney, that will never do. It will be the death
of me. Jane !"

But Jane was off.

"Frank, my boy, you must remember that, live or die, I
undertake this only upon one condition ; that you leave it all
to my discretion, and pledge yourself solemnly, to second me
boldly, heartily, and implicitly, in every individual item of my
plan. What say you?"

" Sydney, you arc a master-spirit. I am yours !"

" Good ! signed and sealed. Now, while Mrs. M. is digesting
your palatable message, let us go down below and drink to victory
or death. AUons, my old buck. Nil desperandum, as the Latins
have it; 'Time, faith, and energy,' as Bulwer echoes it; and
'Never do to give it up so, Mr. Brown,' as I always say

myself."

The return of the Mortons was the signal for a long series
of visits, congratulations, gossipings, confabs, and merry-makings,
throughout the extensive circle of their acquaintance. Old beaux

286 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

and flirts were eager to offer their sighs again at the shrine of
the former queen of their reunions, and antiquated belles were
curious to observe how she bore her matronly dignities. The
Youno-er of both sexes swelled the fetes, for their own individual
and mutual satisfaction, little regardful of their hosts. To the
latter, therefore, every thing was, of course, just as it should be.
Mr. and Mrs. M. were charming people, and they felt excessively
obliged to them for making such a pleasant sensation in the
town. But to the former classes, affairs appeared in a quite
different light; yet, if possible, even more gratifying to them
than to the others. Both beaux and belles soon had the intense
satisfaction, the supreme delight, of discovering that what they
had predicted, what they had hoped, if the truth must be told,
liad come to pass. Our poor friend Frank was the " immolated"
on either side; since the belles felicitated themselves with the
idea that he was punished, for his preference of Isadora; and
the beaux, that they were revenged for the gay lady's preference
of him. This grand discovery soon became the general theme
of converse. Incalculable quantities of whisperings, disettes, and
scandal, were floating about. The gentlemen shrugged their
shoulders, with a knowing smile, at the singular change in the
humour of their old friend, and feared as much. The ladies were
not blind — not they — they saw plainly enough how matters stood,
and had always predicted it. Indeed, to sing the song in short
metre, the public settled quietly and confidently down in the
faith, that Miss Isadora, the celestial Isadora Cruston, had turned
out a veritable Xantippe ; and that the gallant, the cynical, the
matchless Erank Morton was, unequivocally and incorrigibly, a
henpecked husband!

But the most singular phase in the phenomenon, was that
Frank, the once high-souled and haughty Frank, did not in the
least degree revolt against the domestic despotism under which
he was crushed ; but, on the contrary, seemed to take delight in

MR. brown's strategy. 287

bending, with, studied submission, to the iron rule. This hu-
mility, in a man of Mr. Frank Morton's former temper, was
strange indeed ; and to all, excepting to Mr. Sydney Brown, who
claimed to know a thing or two, was most unaccountable. When
bantered by his friends, Frank took all in good part, and listened
incredulously to the propositions of resistance which were made
to him, as though they were the mere dreamings of a disordered
imagination. At such moments, however, his friends occasionally
detected a lurking smile in his eye, which but quadrupled their
perplexity. Isadora had also noted, with anxious curiosity,
Frank's strange obedience to her slightest will, both in public
and private ; and the mysterious smile which his friends had
observed, created double alarm in her mind. The deference
wliich he carefully paid to her — his naive appeals to her superior
judgment, which he invariably made, in all topics of conversation,
in public or private, whether the theme was a lady's toilet or
the policy of States, the confection of a cake or the solution
of a geometric problem, the government of a nursery or the
discipline of an army^ — both annoyed and terrified her. The
position conceded to her became embarrassing ; her crown weighed
upon her brow ; her sceptre wearied her hand, and she felt that
she had assumed a power whicli she was incompetent to wield.
Neither was it from her husband alone, that she received these
exaggerated tokens of respect and devotion. All his especial
friends, those who had once been ever ready to fling back hei
sarcasm and her sneer, now aided in canonizing her. Even the
incorrigible Sydney Brown was submissive with the rest. Had
she detected but the slightest symptom of irony in the exalted
respect of her friends, all would have been well ; but it was
offered with such an immaculate air of sincerity and truth, that
she was compelled to receive it, with the best grace she could
assume. Day after day, she felt more keenly the painfulness of
her position ; to which was added, the perception she at length

288 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

had of tlie ridiculous place her husband held in the household.
She was a proud woman, and a slave to conventional law. She
had only desired to govern through him, and not in her own
name. The usages of society demanded this nominal authority,
but Frank had rejected it, and publicly assumed the rank he
really held. Nay, he studied to make his debasement even lower
than it really was. He directed his correspondents to address
him to the care of Mrs. Morton, and the lady had received
several letters addressed to herself which were evidently written
to him ; while he occasionally sent her a sheet which had been
directed to Mr. Morton, but very clearly, w^as addressed to her.
Frank could not, or would not, explain to her the meaning of
all this. When bills were sent to his house, he referred them
to Mrs. Morton. He had even run up an account at her jewel-
ler's, which was presented to her for payment ; nay, more, he
affected the character and airs of a lady; carried a parasol
in the streets, and an embroidered cambric in his hand ; rode
horseback sideways, and flirted desperately with his admirer,
Sydney Brown !

These little vagaries became so frequent, and were often-
times so extravagant, that the dear public began to think our
hero's afflictions had turned his brain ; that he had been ac-
tually henpecked into madness. Isadora, when she recollected
his natural humour, and the melancholy change her tyranny
had really made in it, at times, fearfully admitted the same
terrible thought. Then again, when she recalled the message
which Mr. Sydne}'- Brown had sent to her, from her husband,
on the day of her return to her native land, and the intimacy
which had since been renewed between Frank and that gentle-
man, her fears gave place to rage, in the reflection that there
mis^ht be "method in his madness!" This last idea was not
sustained by the fact that Mr. Brown humoured all his eccen-
tricities ; since that amiable gentleman had, as a friend, hinted

MR. brown's strategy. 289

to her Ills belief, that her husband's imagination had, from
some unaccountable cause, become deranged, and had begged
her permission to lend that seeming assent to his fancies, which
the case imperatively required.

As time passed on, her busband's singular affliction appear-
ing to have somewhat abated, Isadora determined to resume
the place in the gay world which she had partially abandoned.
She was the more ready to do this, as Frank himself had sug-
gested it ; and at bis desire she had resolved to give a dinner
party, to which she conceded to him the sole privilege of
in\dting tbe guests. This concession was made, not merely
to humour him, which she would have gladly done though, to
any extent, in the hope of making him again what he once
^yas— but she was tired of her usurped power, and sighed only
to resign it, and reinstate her husband in all bis rights.

In preparing the cards for the coming fete, Frank proved
himself very reasonably sane, carefully selecting only the tried
friends of his family ; tbose in whom he could, in all tilings,
place the utmost confidence. Inasmuch as the affair had been
left wholly to his direction, Isadora was, nevertheless, not a
little mortified and surprised, to learn, on the very day of the
dinner, that the invitations had been sent to every one
in her name, instead of her husband's. From this inci-
dent she augured a recurrence of his idiosyncrasy; which
fear, as the dinner hour approached, was greatly increased,
and, finally, fully confirmed. As the guests began to assemble,
the fair lady was horrified by a characteristic query from Frank,
whicb proved that he again looked upon himself as the mis-
tress, instead of the master, of the house.

" Frank, my love," said he, " since I left the whole of this

affair to your pleasure, I hope that you have invited all your

friends, not even excepting Sydney Brown. I certainly do

not like Mr. Brown very much myself, but since he is the

19

290 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

cherished friend of ray husband, I shall be always happy to
receive him as such. It is no less my pleasure than my duty,
dear Frank, to study your happiness before my own, in all
things. I have sacredly pledged you my love and obedience,
and I will never belie my promise."

" Frank I" exclaimed the bewildered and angry Isadora,
"what does this nonsense mean? Are you really a fool, or
do you wish to insult me ?"

" My dear husband," returned Frank with a kind and gentle
smile, "since it is your pleasure to call me by your own
dear name, I cannot object to it; nor will I complain of any
other strange cognomens you may give me. I can bear any
thing from or for you, patiently and cheerfully.

"Frank!" interrupted the bewildered wife, "do, for heaven's
sake — for my sake, cease this foolery, and go down to receive the
guests. They are all arriving, and no one in the drawing-room!"

"Jiy guests, my dear! I'm sure I did not invite tliem, and
besides, you know that I have to dress for dinner — would you not

like me to wear my new silk, with the beautiful point lace "

Here our hero was interrupted in his toilet-speculations, by the
abrupt and maddened departure of Isadora, who seeing no hope of
making her husband conscious of his duties, hastened down stairs
to welcome her friends, and to make an apology of sudden indispo-
sition for Frank.

The excuse was of course sufficient, and every thing went on in
all apparent harmony, until dinner was announced, and the guests
were preparing to move to the salon-a-manger. At this instant, to
the utter astonishment of the party, and to the entire petrifaction
of Isadora, the invalid host entered the hall, in a complete suit of
lady's apparel! He (or she) greeted the assembly with infinite
grace, and hoped that Mr. Morton had given them all a cordial
welcome, and made her excuse for her own tardy appearance. He
then took the proffered arm of his cavalier, Mr. Sydney Brown, and

MR. brown's strategy, 291

leading the way, was, as by a spell, followed by all to the table,
where he seated himself on Isadora's chair and pointed her to
the one he himself usually occupied !

She mechanically obeyed the gesture, but when Frank
called upon her to pronounce the blessing, she could bear it
no longer— and recalling her scattered senses, and a share of
her accustomed self-possession, she made a motion for the ban-
quet to proceed, and addressing the party, hoped that the ab-
surd scene they were witnessing would be forgiven, since her
poor husband had long been somewhat out of his mind, and
was now evidently insane.

Mr. Sydney Brown, in pursuance of the permission which
he held from Isadora, lent himself fully to the wild humour of
his host ; gallantly paying him all sorts of compliments, and
carrying it so far as directly to address Isadora, now and then,
as Mr. Morton.

" Shall I," said he at one moment, gaily bowing to Frank,
"have the honour of taking wine with my fair hostess?" and
then turning to Isadora, he added, "my friend Frank, you
are backward to-day in good example; faith, your glass has
not yet been touched!"

At another instant, he commenced a sentence to Frank
touching a lady's opera costume, and finished it to Isadora,
with a remark upon the probable results of the next Presi-
dential election. Then again, he accused Frank of stealing
away the hearts of all the beaux ; but told Isadora she weH
repayed the theft, by Ms own notorious flirtations.

How long this odd scene might have continued we know
not, had not a light suddenly burst upon Isadora's mind, as
glancing at her husband, she detected the often observed,
equivocal smile upon his lip ; and at the same moment, upon
that also of Mr. Sydney Brown.

The scenes of the past few weeks, and the sequel of to-day,

292 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

was, as by magic, explained to her. A deej) blush of shame
covered her face, and she burst into an uncontrollable fit of
tears.

" Frank I" she exclaimed, amidst her sobs of mingled shame
and rage, "why am I subjected to this outrage? What means
this cruel farce?"

"It means, madam," said Frank, now gravely rising and
speaking in his wonted tone of pride and command, "that
you have so long abused my love, in usurping my authority,
that I have resolved to gratify you to the top of your bent,
and resign the shadow with the substance : to abandon to you
the outward form of rule, since you have taken the spirit
of it. T, therefore, formally make over to you, before these
witnesses, every portion of my wardrobe, while I, in return,
shall beg the use of yours ! In short, madam you will now
make choice of one or the other ; either to take upon your-
self my entire duties in the household, or totally resign your
usurped and ill-placed authority, and become as a wife should
be — modest, gentle and obedient !"

"Spare me! oh! forgive me!" cried the conquered Isadora,
falling at his feet. "The punishment you have inflicted upon
me is only just — and yet it is cruel — oh! too cruel! I have
long, dearest Frank, felt my error and sighed to retrieve it.
The lesson you have taught me, is bitterly completed to-day.
It is so stricken in my heart, that it can never be forgotten.
Forgive me! and I promise you by the solemn vow I once
pledged you, to become, henceforth, all your brightest dreams
could ever have shown you in a wife!"

"Ah, my Isadora! once again my own loved Isadora!"
cried the now really crazy Frank, as he raised his repentant
wife and clasped her to his breast, " Oh ! bitterly now,
Bhould I regret the severe measures I have used, but for the
wonderful and happy results! Oh! Isadora, you are well for-

MR. beown's strategy. 293

given — but can you ever pcordon me, and our good friend too?"
lie added, placing her hand in that of Sydney Brown, who
stood, for once in his life, embarrassed by the strangeness of
his position.

This mauvaise honte vanished, as Isadora kindly pressed his
hand, and in a sweet voice, pronounced his pardon and her
thanks. Sydney, sinking upon his knee, pressed the fair fin-
gers to his lips, and sacredly promised never again to flirt
with Frank, if the sacrifice should even break his heart !

When all explanations had been duly made, mutual par-
dons granted, and the felicitations of friends offered, Frank
addressing the assembly, said —

"The role, which you now know me to have been long
playing, has, thank God, been eminently happy in its denoue-
ment. I have taken care that none should witness this painfnl
scene, but well tried friends, in whose honour I have perfect
reliance, and I must now exact a solemn promise from all, to
keep the incidents of to-day forever sacred as the grave."

"No, no!" interposed Isadora, "the world knows my fault,
and it is but just that they should witness its punishment."

"I will not accept so hard a penance," returned Frank.
"Let them know only the results. My good friend Sydney,
whose genius alone has accomplished these glorious effects
will know best how to complete his work."

******

Once again the good good people of were taken by

surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Morton were never to be seen but
together, each as gay and joyous as in the merry days of
their courtship. Whenever allusion happened to be made to
the metamorphosis, Frank looked with a smile of pity and
triumph upon the querist, which seemed to establish the very-
common report, that the scandal-loving public had been the
egregious dupes of the inveterate wag and bitter satirist, Frank

294 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAK LANDSCAPE.

Morton, who, witli the assistance of his equally satirical Isa-
dora, had so long successfully played the part of the Hen-
pecked Husband! Their envious friends were compelled to
swallow this bitter pill of chagrin, when even the hitherto
invincible Sydney confessed that his friend Frank had at last
done him Brown!

<--gL:'-i7^>-'.-»-.--^ Xli:

CHAPTER XIY.

"Gentlemen," said the chairman, "as we gathered for the
last time around our social board, we are happily completing
our pleasant labours, just as the returning summer is calling
us forth again to the actual enjoyment of those out-ofdoor
beauties, with which we have so long been delighting ourselves
in memory and in fancy.

"With a hasty visit, to-night, to the charming landscape of
the Eastern States, we must close our discursive pilgrimage,
and shake hands, with the hope that our recollections may give
as much pleasure to our readers, as they have afforded to
ourselves.

" We have lingered amidst many lovely scenes in our grand
tour of the Union, but none more beautiful than those wc have
yet to look upon, among the noble hills, and valleys, and lakes
of brave and gallant New England. It is a very easy and
very remunerative labour to travel here, where the facilities
of locomotion are so great, and where every step offers some
object of interest and beauty in physical nature or in social life.
Throughout the length and breadth of this region we shall every-
where meet pleasant scenes and pleasant people. The only

296 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

difficulty is to determine where to begin onr rambles, where
so many things divide our love. Perhaps we had better each
discourse of his favourite haunts, while we all remember that
our especial theme is the natural beauty, and not the social or
industrial characteristics of this countr}^ I esteem this caution
necessary here, where we may be so much tempted to linger
in the thousand charming homes and villages, or among the
innumerable temples of ingenious toil."

" Suppose then," said Mr. Megilp, " we commence with Maine
as the largest, if not the most attractive, link in Yankeedom.
With your permission, Mr. Chairman, I will take the rugged
old Lumber State for my share in your proposed 'partition.'
I have a fancy for the wild solitudes, yet left to us, in her
primitive forests, and along her rocky and islanded coasts. I
love to linger amidst the thickly-wooded passages of her moun-
tain brooks, and to meditate upon the lonely summits of her
great hills — great even in their proximity to the more famous
heights of New Hampshire. You should stand, as I have often
done, upon the stern crown of old Katahdin, or upon the
crest of Sugar-Loaf, and look out over the unrivalled pano-
rama of hills, and valleys, and lakes innumerable ; or you
should explore the yet untrodden recesses of these valleys
and waters, where you may alike abundantly gratify both your
passion of artist and hunter. And then, too, there is still a
world of beauty in reserve, along the wild courses of her
noble rivers, the Kennebec and the Penobscot. I advise some
of you to pitch your tents next summer among the beauties
of this too-much neglected region."

"It is of but little use," said Mr. Yermeille, "to direct
the tourist thither, however well his journey ings may repay
him, while he can revel, so much more at his ease, among
the still greater charms to be seen in the famous hill and
lake districts of the Granite State. Who wants to toil up the

THE EASTERN STATES. 297

wearisome ascent of Katalidia while he can ride comfortably
to the nobler height of Mount Washington, and gaze upon a
panorama of hill and vale reaching even to the far-off sea.
Can Moosehead or Umbagog rival the mirrorring beauties of
"Winnipissiogee and Squam; or docs Maine offer a parallel to
the stupendous pass of the Notch in our White Hills ; or has
she sweeter brooklets than the white-crested Ammonoosuck and
Pemigewasset ? The stone-face of the venerable Old Man of
the Mountain, gazing, from his rocky heights, over his en-
chanted domain, would take a yet more flinty aspect, were
we to question the supremacy of his claims to the first rank
in the noble landscape of New England."

" It were vain," said Mr. Flakewhite, " to deny that New
Hampshire is unsurpassed in the magnificence of her moun-
tain scenery: and yet there are aspects of Nature here, which
delight me more. Such are the gentler scenes which we find
everywhere along the valleys of those beautiful rivers, the
Housatonic and the Connecticut. This softer landscape, while
it does not strike the eye so vividly, yet fills the heart more
surely and more enduringly. It is a region in which you
iSSfcc contentedly dwell, not for a day, but for ever: since it
comrnabds the beautiful in Nature, with all the supplies and
comforts o>N!ife. Here, while pursuing your daily toils, you
may drink in^ the delights of inspiriting scenery, and always
and insensibly

" 'See and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language which thy God
Utters ; who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all things, and all things in Himself ;
Great Universal Teacher 1 He shall mould
Thy spirit^ and by giving make it well.'

I once, with some pleasant companions, made a pedestrian

298 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

tour tlirougli tlie valley of the Housatonic, entering it at the
cozy village of Old Stockbridge, and lingering among its
chiefest beauties in Berkshire. On the way, we made a slight
detour to that happy cluster of lakes, in western Connecticut,
of which the Washinee and the Washining, or the Twin-Lakes,
are the centre.

" But the nobler Connecticut opens to us a yet richer land-
scape of the same class : a landscape so admirable, indeed,
that it has no peer in all the land. The finest and most
characteristic part of the Connecticut, lies about midway from its
source among the hills, on the Canadian borders, to its entrance
into Long Island Sound — stretching above, from Northampton
to Brattleboro', and below, to Springfield. South of Springfield
the waters flow through a pleasant and densely settled, yet
comparatively low and unattractive country ; while north of
Brattleboro' both the river and the valley grow narrow and
rugged, presenting, more and more, the usual aspect of moun-
tain streams. Northampton, and its neighbourhood, presents a
most charming picture of plenty and comfort in its luxuriant
meadows, and cozy homesteads, and is at the same time sur-
rounded by the boldest hill-features of the Connecticut, Here
we may look, from a hundred varying points, upon the rocky
face of Mount Tom, or upon the acclivities of his confrere,
bold Holyoke. Both these fine elevations come admirably
and effectively into all the views from the valley levels ; but
they owe their wide fame to the surprising panorama seen
from their summits. Turn our gaze as we will, from the top
of Mount Holyoke, and we everywhere see vast sweeps of
cultivated meadow, and interminable chains of distant hills.
Beautiful villages, with their soaring church spires, rise thickly
around us, and the gleaming river, in its winding flight, leads
our delighted eye far away to the peaks of the Green and
the "White Mountains."

THE EASTERN STATES. 299

" How gay," said Professor Scumble,

" ' How gay the habitations that bedeck
This fertile valley! Not a house but seems
To give assurance of coutent within,
Embosom'd happiness, and placid love;
As if the sunshine of the day were met
By answering brightness in the hearts of all
"Who walk this favour'd ground !' "

" Beautiful as is the country around Mount Holyoke,"
continued Mr. Flakewhite, "I will not say there are not more
charming scenes still beyond: indeed my memory recalls, at
this moment, no glimpses of the Connecticut valley more
pleasing than sundry views commanded by the Poet's Seat, a
bold precipice near Greenfield; at Yernon also, and at Deer-
field, Brattleboro', and Bellows Falls, there is a world of
interest in the ever-varying panorama."

"This is a venerable region," said the chairman; "some
of the towns of this valley are as old as the first settlements
of New England. Northampton, for instance, young and rosy
as it looks to-day, was born full two hundred years ago. No
wonder then, that, like many other portions of the Eastern
States, it contrasts so vividly with newer and rougher parts of
the Union."

" It abounds, also," said Mr. Asphaltum, " with bloody tra-
ditions of Indian warfare. Everywhere the traveller is reminded,
by tale or tablet, of some trying adventure in the history of
our sturdy ancestors. At Deerfield, there is a marble monu-
ment, commemorative of the fatal ambuscade in 1675, when
the savages waylaid and murdered a company of eighty-four
gallant youths, the flower of the settlement."

"There is one important division of our subject which we
have not yet touched," said Mr. Blueblack, " and it claims very
respectful consideration, I assure you, even after the visit to

300 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

New Hampshire and the Connecticut. I speak, of course, of
the hills and valleys of Yermont— of the meadows which lie
along the shores of Lake Champlain, overlooking those great
waters, and the greater chains of the Adirondack's spurs beyond
—of the fair vale and stream of Winooske, and the proud
crests of Mansfield and the Camel's Hump. The views from
the tops ol these great mountains will well repay the toil of
ascent; and the waters of the Winooske, pleasing in their
whole flow of forty miles, from the capital to the lake, are,
in many places, of exceeding interest : there is much of beauty,
too, found in the tributary brooks. The Huntington river
contains some fine ravine passages near its entrance into the
Winooske, at Jonesville. In addition to the pleasures of a
charming landscape, Yermont will introduce you to one of the
most agreeable and hospitable of the Yankee populations. In
their sturdy independence and general intelligence, you will find
strono- traces of the honest, manly spirit of their Aliens and
Starks, of times, happily, gone by."

"You will scarcely believe it," said Mr. Brownoker, "but
I made my first excursion down East, only last summer. In
view of all I have heard of 'steady habits,' blue-laws, liquor-
laws, and the gravity of Plymouth Rock, I set forth with much
fear and trembling, afraid that I should find myself a very
black sheep in the flock: but I soon breathed more freely,
when I discovered that I had not got into such an extremely
'serious family' after all. To be sure, on my first 'Sabbath,'

there is no Sunday in New England — my landlord solemnly

proffered me ' a pew in meeting ;' but, then, to make amends, in
the afternoon, his daughters — merry lasses, and mischievous as
Satan — ^invited me, on -the sly, to accompany them in an 'huc-
kleberry' excursion 'over the hills and far away.' My host
himself, I afterwards found out, notwithstanding that he shaved
very clean and had a 'family bible that lay on the stand,'

NEW ENGLAND HABITS. 301

could swear like our army in Flanders; but he always piously
qualified his oaths by saying (in parenthesis, and with virtuous
suavity), ' to speak after the manner of men.' Thus—' I was so
darned riled, Mr. Brownoker, that I told the infernal scoundrel
to go to h— heaven! speaking, you know, after the manner

of men.'

" Thouc^h the immortal Maine Law had just gone into opera-
tion, and, like a new broom, might be expected then, if ever,
to work thoroughly, nowhere could I innocently, and in good
faith, demand a glass of innocuous ' soda,' without being myste-
riously conducted into a retired apartment, and having an
obnoxious decanter thrust under my afflicted nose.

"Altogether, I soon learned that, despite the decorous exte-
rior which the good folks wore, through long and general habit,
not hypocrisy, they were, no more than others, in any way
' too virtuous for cakes and ale :' that they were still sufficiently
'of the earth, earthy,' and possessed of a goodly modicum of the
leaven of evil— a very essential alloy to the ' cardinals' in the ^
production of the pure coinage of human sympathy and love."

'"Creatures not too bright and good
For human nature's daily food,'"

said Scumble, approvingly.

" Yes, men and women, the world over, are, au fond, pretty
much the same," continued Mr. Brownoker, with a gravity of
manner worthy of the chaii', " despite the disguising incrusta-
tions with which education and circumstances may enwrap
them. 'From Greenland's icy mountains to Afric's burning
strand,' and 'all intermediate landings,' the geology of the
buman heart is the same. Everywhere we detect the same
identical strata, though the surface may vary much. Strong
passions, both good and evil, slumber under the cold phlegmatic
exterior' of New England, no less than beneath the lighter

802 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

upper soil of the tropics. ISTow and tlien these latent fires
flame up through the heaviest superincumbent mass, as they
did once upon a time gloriously at Bunker Hill, and Lexington,
and Concord, and Bennington, as they still occasionally do,
most ingloriously, in the fanaticism of an abolition riot. I once
'assisted' in a playful ebulKtion of the hidden 'Satan,' on the
part of a merry group of Yankee matrons — most grave and
reverend matrons — the light and delight of the staid community
in which they dwelt. The occasion was the anniversary festival
of a mock society of

" I was a guest in a spacious New England hotel, which,
with its outbuildings, was the Alpha and Omega of a great
town that was to have been, but had not as yet found leisure
to be. It was a wayside house, famous for its attractions,
especially to brief excursion parties, in all the country round;
and being a railroad station, conveniently equidistant from two
considerable cities, it was, of course, much frequented.

"Every pleasant summer-day brought to its liberal table, its
cordial hospitality, and its surrounding natural beauties, smaller
or larger parties of gay visitants: now, a graceless squad of
lawless collegians, and, again, tender pairs of cooing doves,
who set but little store by the groaning boards, but very
properly appreciated the moonlight in the groves and glens,
and on the silvered waters of the neighbouring lake.

" We had our own quiet fan out of all these pleasant
occasions, but they seemed scarce worthy of our enjoyment ;
when our landlord announced to us the approaching visit of a
large party, formed of the ladies, the married ladies alone, of
the vicinage.

woman's rights. 303

"It was a droll association, as we learned from our host,
formed of the first matrons of the region, who once a year
threw aside the conventional shackles whicli chain them to
their parlour walls, and, asserting their independence, go off
on a * bust,' ' after the manner of men.'

"The spiteful rain— as though the elements, too, maliciously
joined in the oppression of the injured sex— poured down in
such unmitigated torrents, on the day appointed for the novel
visit, that we had but little hope of the affair coming off at
all. But we did injustice to the metal of the fair amazons.
When the expected hour came, there came the headlong loco-
motive with an extra shriek, and there, too, came the promised
guests, pouring gaily out of the cars by dozens— as bewitching
a fairy-guard as your fancy could fashion.

"As they debarked in their neat travelling dresses, made
without any reference to uniformity of cut or colour, the only
thiucr remarkable about them at the moment, beyond their gay
flow of animal spirits, was their number, unsprinkled with pan-
taloons; though I learned afterwards that they had well sus-
tained their assumed freedom on their journey down : two of
the youngest and prettiost having entirely discomboberated a
couple of meek young gentlemen by gallantly offering the new
and unprovided comers their own comfortable seats; and others
having taken up quarters in the baggage-cars, that they might
indulge in their favourite luxury of a cigar.

"The ladies bestowed a cordial greeting, as they landed,
upon ' the Judge,' our host, and were so gracious to the Judge's
son, a budding youth, who piqued himself upon his manliness
and his moustache, that starch could not save him for an
instant. One fair belle was ahead of me in picking up a hand-
kerchief which I happened to let fall, and which she politely
presented to me with a patronizing smile, and— 'You've dropped
your cambric, my dear 1' I simpered and blushed properly, and

S04 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

the lady laughed gaily as I answered, with a bashful curtsey,
'Thank you, sir, you are very kind!' Then the free and easy
air with which they roamed over all parts of the establish-
ment, from the bar-room to the stables, and made love to the
sterner sex, was edifying enough to gentlemen possessed of very
high teeth, but deplorably annoying to would-be bucks, who
still needed the watchful eye of mamma. It was, however, not
until the late supper-hour, that the spirit of the occasion was
thoroughly developed.

" A bountiful table— one of the Judge's own famous boards
— had been provided, and the ladies having fasted long beyond
their accustomed quiet tea-time, sat down with a gusto which
they usually display only in the pantry or at ' lunch,' when the
gentlemen are all 'down town.'

"Starting with the soup, in a sprighly genial humour, the
convives grew more and more enthused at each succeeding course,
when, if the last piece of pudding did not do the business for
them, as it did for gentle 'Charles,' the wines and cigars— very
mild brands, both— which soon followed, certainly did. Each
passing toast was rapturously greeted and eloquently answered,
amidst a hurricane of 'hear, hears!' and the clapping of pretty
hands and stamping of little feet; but it was the final senti-
ment which brought out the soul of the table, the 'nine groans
and a tiger,' and the master-speech of the night.

"When this last supreme aspiration, 'The Gentlemen— the
d—l take them !' was uttered from the Chair, the uproar grew
inconceivable, and it was a long while before the voluble
tongue of Mrs. 0. K. could be distinguished amidst the mar-
vellous din of voices.

"'Ladies!' cried that fervid apostle of progress, when chaos
was at length caged, ' as I listen to the noble sentiment which
has just been announced, and turn my swollen eyes, red with
sorrow, over the wrongs of our sex, upon the soaring crest.

woman's rights. 805

yonder, of Camel's Hump — (hear, hear !) — ^yes, ladies, I say
Camel's Hump ! — (renewed cheering) — Camel's Hump, ladies ! —
I wonder that the indignant mountain does not fall upon and
crush our oppressors! — (immense applause, and cries of 'Scratch
their eyes out !') — We have borne it, ladies, long enough — too
long. In the unanswerable language of that noble instrument,
the great charter of our holy national liberties, we have pe-
titioned, we have remonstrated, we have done all that women
can do — who dares do more is none ! There is no longer time
to talk — the crisis has come, and we must act — "act in the
living present, heart within, and God o'erhead!" — (deafening
cheers). — Flesh and blood can bear no more ! "Why, my be-
loved sisters — why, I ask you, and I pause for a reply — why
should not we, like our arrogantly self-styled lords and masters —
(deep groans and bitter sneers) — get our crowns smashed at the
ballot-box, that bulwark of freedom! — (cries of 'Why, why!')-
Why should we not, like them, fight for our country's rights
on one leg and with one arm, when the others are gloriously
gone ! — (' Why not !' from all parts of the house.) — Why should
we, too, not be rocked, through sleepless nights, on the quiver-
ing spar washed by the waves of the ocean ! — (increasing ap-
plause).— Why should we not grow strong in the fresh air, fol-
lowing the plough! Why must we be for ever and ignomi-
niously set up as shrines of worship, sheltered from all the cares
and dangers and toils of life, doomed inexorably to no higher
fate than thoughtlessly and lavishly to spend our husbands'
money, while they alone enjoy all the delights and excitement
of making it! Why should we, too, not go on benders, and
be jolly, as at this moment, and get home in the morning,
with rosy noses and aching heads! But I weary you, ladies! —
(terrible applause, and loud cries of ' Go on !') — I might, indeed,
go on for ever, and then begin again, so appalling is the fearful
picture which shocks my terror-stricken sight ! But I need not
20

306 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

say more— my feeble tongue is not required! The fearfal sub-
ject will speak for itself, in its still, small, but omnipotent
voice, until tlie hills shall echo with its mighty story, and the
floods of the great deep take up the resounding tale [—(inde-
scribable excitement).— It shocks m.e— in the language of the
poet —

"To think that earth should be so fair,
So beautiful and bright a thing ;
Tliat nature should come forth and wear
Such glorious apparelling ;
That sea, earth, sky, should live, and glow
With light, and love, and holiness.
And j-et man never feel or know
How much a God of Love can bless —
How deep his debt of thankfulness"

to woman, the patient, living author of his very life, the
radiant jewel without which that life would be but a worthless
casket— woman, the last, and most perfect work of heaven-
woman, the angel of light, bringing—'

"Here the speaker's voice was irremediably drowned in a
continuous and indescribable shriek of applause, and she sunk,
like the maestro Jullien, exhausted to her seat.

"The party was to return by the night-train, which passed
late in the small hours. Before their departure, they sent for
the Judge, to be kissed, in behalf of his sex, as Louis Napoleon
embraced the prettiest of an immense deputation of washer-
women, in the name of the whole. I proposed to be the
modest Judge's substitute, but, after a hot debate, was thrown
out, on the score of my not being a married man ! However,
as a consolation and a mark of their esteem, they elected me,
by acclamation, an honorary member of their charming so-
ciety.

megilp's slight mistake. 307

" The cars came at last, and the ladies ended their frolic,
and went back to their pleasant homes once again — "

" ' To suckle fools and chronicle small beer,' "

said Scumble, finishing the sentence.

" Gentlemen," said the chairman at this point, and in the
midst of the merry comments upon the graphic " report" of Mrs.
O. K.'s famous speech, " though this is our very last meeting,
and we ought of right to linger, like Mr. Brownoker's notable
ladies, until ' daylight doth appear,' yet you must remember
our engagement at the ' Century,' and time waits. Besides, we
have already given our host more rigmarole than his book will
hold; if we feed him any longer with such succulent 'copy'
he will grow entirely too plethoric for the paper-makers."

" Don't be in a hurry," said Mr. Megilp ; " it's only ten
o'clock, and when shall we all meet again ? Stay a few minutes
more to hear a brief stage-coach adventure of mine in the land
of notions. It's the history of a slight mistake, which may
serve you both as a warning and as a valediction."

" Well," said the chairman, " I ' capitulate' to the few min-
utes you require, but be sure that you rein up when they are
expired."

" O, certainly," cried everybody ; " plenty of time ! of course
we can't avoid

:r9i[])'s .Sligljt Mistake.

"The coach," said Mr. Megilp, "drove up to the piazza,
where I was awaiting its arrival, as the darkness of a mild
August night was growing too dense to be visible.

808 THE KOMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

" Mj cigar being unfinished, I jumped upon the box witU
the driver, whom I found to be so agreeable an old fellow that
I lighted and puffed pipe after pipe, in merry chat, until, the
air growing a little chillj', I bethought me to get inside.

"'jSTot a bad idea,' said Jehu; 'there's an all-fired nice
girl in there !'

"'The deuce there is!' said I; 'why did you not tell me
before, you old ass ?'

"'Because,' said Jehu, with a provoking grin, 'I supposed
you would prefer my beautiful sociutj' !"

" ' Pshaw !' said I, as the machine held up, and I leaped
to the ground.

" Sure enough, just as the driver had said, there was a
bundle of neglected beauty nodding on the back seat, but of
what style, whether blonde, brown, or brunette, it was quite
too dark to tell.

" I established myself alongside, but, after various futile at-
tempts at talking, found the lady too sleepy therefor. I nodded
too, until a jolt aroused me from love's yoang dream, but onlv
to make me nod again, when I found the innocent head of my
companion gracefully pillowed upon my shoulder. Bless her
dear little heart! I thought, travelling all alone by herself;
and, the better to protect her gentle slumbers, I kindly wound
my arm about her pliant waist. Then I dreamed again, and
again awoke, and afraid that the fair one might not yet be
sufiiciently comfortable, I drew her still nearer to me— and I
am not so certain that, in some of the many jolts, our lips did
not occasionally meet 1

" Thus it went on until something frightened the horses
into a run, which upset the entire concern, at the sharp corner
of a small house, much nearer than it ought to have been to
the roadside. The impersonation of Cupid and Psvche was
abruptly ended by this untoward accident. In the confusion

megilp's slight mistake, 309

of the moment, I had jumped unconsciously out of the coacli,
and as soon as my scattered senses came home, I snatched a
Hght from the hands of one of the people of the house, and
began to look about for the lady, quite unheedful of the
dolorous cries of an old coloured woman, who was screaming
that her ' neck was clear broke !'

'"Blast your neck!' I cried, pushing her aside, as I rushed
to the coach. 'Good heavens, she's not here, she's nowhere!
We must have spilt her out on the road !'

"'She's all right!' said the driver, with a sardonic laugh.

" ' All right ! how ?'

" '0 yes, sir; thank you, sir; don't be frightened! It's only
my poor neck that's broke!' said the squalling black Phillis
aforesaid.

" ' O,' said I, as the terrible truth dawned upon my be-
nighted mind, ' O, you are the lady, are you? he, he; yes,
yes; ah yes; it's all right.'

'"All right!' echoed Jehu, when, having put the establish-
ment on its pins again, and the lady in her seat, he prepared
to resume his journey. 'Will you risk the chances again,
inside, sir, or will you try another cigar on the box?'

"Gentlemen, I took the cigar and the driver, instead of
the senorita, though I assure you it was but Hobson's choice
between them. That's all. You may scatter now as fast as
you please."

"'Last scene of all this strange eventful history,'"

sighed Professor Scumble.

Hereupon, dear readers, our guests shook hands with us
and with each other, and with many kind words to you all,
and many hopes that their gossip may find favour in your sight,
they vanished from our own.

810 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE.

And now, "finally, and to conclude," as the worthy chair-
man, kind reader, would say to you, were he still here, "God
bless you, friends,"

As our dear magniloquent Megilp would express it: "May
you live a thousand years P'

As the dainty Flakewhite's aromatic words would flow :
"May all good angels guard you!"

As the downright hearty Brownoker would blurt: "Good
luck to you, boysT'

Or, as our ancient parchment, Professor Scumble would
add: —

"And so, without more circurastanee at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part."

THE END.